Back to Basics
by Letting The Rain In
Summary: The supernatural doesn't exactly welcome the Tracy brothers back. The Tracy brothers don't exactly care.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, back again! Just a few mentions and warnings before we begin with this.**

**First off, credit goes to Ryuuza Kochou for inspiring this with her wonderful 'Psychics' and brilliant 'Roadtrips Along The Pentagram'. Once I'd read them, the idea of – lets call a spade a spade here - copying them wouldn't leave me alone and by the time I'd looked up, I'd written nearly two chapters.**

**Credit also to the mate who swears she doesn't think I'm crackers, but has her fingers crossed behind her back, for having a lookthrough anyway and telling me to post.**

**Warning time. I have played with the ages. Don't email me and tell me I don't have them right, cos this I know. It's an AU and we're suspending our belief for the duration of the story. Thanks. I'm also a little sketchy on who came first, Virgil or John, and I'm gonna go with Virgil. After all, he's Scott's go to guy and I think that stems from Scott having no one else while Jeff was grieving for his wife.**

**Um, I think that's it … Oh yeah – ENJOY!**

Alan Tracy hated being in the house alone. It probably stemmed from growing up in a noisy, brother-infested home, he reflected. The youngest of five, twelve-year-old Alan had rarely found himself in solitude, but, one by one, his brothers had found careers and ambitions which frequently resulted in their leaving the family home for weeks at a time, and his father, the hard working head of the fantastically successful Tracy Industries, hadn't lessened his workload in the slightest.

Four days ago, John, Alan's third oldest brother, had left the house for an 'unmissable' lecture on some astronomical phenomenon that would take him away for at least ten days, including travelling time. As the lecture coincided with the other Tracy's own pursuits, this resulted in leaving Alan in the sole care of his father.

Jefferson Tracy wasn't an uncaring parent, he had re-arranged meetings, briefings and paperwork in order to be home at six each night, unlike his usual nine, until one of his other boys returned and he shut out all thoughts of business until Alan went to bed, ensuring each night that his youngest held his undivided attention. This was a rare treat for Alan, since Jeff's business had begun to boom shortly before his birth and the entrepreneur hadn't been able to take much time off since. Apart from when his wife had died, naturally, staying home to care for his sons, little Alan only six months old and the care of the business left with his friend and partner, Rudolph Meller.

Alan glanced at the clock again. Nearly seven and no word. It didn't surprise him that his dad had gotten caught up at work, he'd been pleased that it hadn't happened before now, but he was a little upset he hadn't contacted him. Jeff Tracy was nothing if not considerate. No-one had come to the house, either, the realisation of which caused butterflies to start their nauseous dance in Alan's stomach. Dad knew he was alone and if he'd been caught at work, he'd have sent someone over to keep an eye on his son. He wasn't irresponsible, Jeff knew where his priorities had to lie.

Alan glanced at the clock once more. He'd give him until half seven before he called. He wasn't a little kid anymore, he didn't need babysitting and he knew how to operate a microwave. He could cook soup on the stove and toast bread, he wasn't going to starve if Dad didn't get home in time for dinner. He knew to do his homework, to keep the telly to a dull roar and he could make himself go to bed at the correct time. Dad could rely on him.

Didn't mean Alan had to like being on his own in the large house.

Shivering, Alan rose to grab a hoodie from the back of the couch where he'd tossed it casually last night and glanced around the quiet room. Impulsively, he darted forward to turn the telly on just to drown out the silence. The brightly coloured, fast motion cartoon did nothing to diminish the dark noiselessness of his home, and worrying in earnest, Alan shivered again. It was getting near the mark.

Unable to sit still until his self imposed panic time, Alan spent the minutes banishing the darkness from his home, dashing from one room to another and lighting each of them. Were his father to return now, the house would seem like a welcoming beacon of light and warmth in the otherwise cold and wet evening.

Alan reached his fathers study. This was off limits ordinarily, a place to be summoned to only, never a playroom, but tonight Alan was drawn to it. He slid behind his dad's desk, shifting in the worn, comfy leather of the chair and checked his watch. Seven thirty.

With a small sense of trepidation, Alan reached for the vidphone and hit the button that would connect him to his dad. He hesitated, but the persistent shiver that travelled his spine gave him concern enough to punch in the code that would allow him to bypass his father's secretary and put him directly through to Jeff's office. Alan bit his lip as the transmission began. His dad had stressed he was only to use this line in emergencies, not when he wanted to ask him a question and couldn't circumnavigate Mrs Ellings.

Alan rubbed his cold hands together. He just couldn't seem to get warm tonight, not since he had stepped into his home. The screen in front of him lit up and the warm face of Rudolph 'Ruddy' Meller smiled back at him.

"Alan," he said quietly. "What a pleasant surprise."

Ruddy had known most of the Tracy boy's since birth and had become a surrogate uncle to them. Warm but quiet, nothing seemed to surprise him and he had the best poker face Alan knew. Even Gordon wasn't as good as effecting such a bland, if agreeable, expression. Alan and Gordon had once theorised that if you set his foot alight, he'd show nothing more than a mild curiosity.

"Hi, Ruddy," Alan said, squirming a little. "Is my Dad there?"

"Jeff left over an hour ago, Alan," Ruddy replied gently.

"Oh," Alan said, at a loss for words. "Well, thanks."

"I'm sure he's just stuck in traffic," Ruddy assured the boy.

Alan smiled. "Yeah," he agreed. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to end the call. "Bye."

Ruddy stopped him. "Alan?"

"Yeah?"

"I won't tell Jeff you used this line."

"Oh," Alan said again. "Yeah. Thanks, Ruddy."

"You're welcome."

With a sigh of relief, Alan shut off the vidphone and stared around the room. It was at once familiar and strange, an essence of his Dad, but with a removed feeling of the workplace attached to it. Still, it was as close to Dad as he was getting at the moment, and padding in his socked feet to his own room, Alan hauled his duvet back to his Dad's study. Throwing it over himself, Alan curled up in his Dad's spacious leather chair, behind his Dad's vast desk and stared at the room again, waiting.

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When Alan jerked awake, the first thing he did was check the time. Nearly ten. He hadn't been asleep that long, which was hardly surprising. His Dad's chair, while comfortable, had been built with work in mind, not sleep. Alan got up, stretching, moving out of the familiar/surreal room and beginning his search for his Dad.

Alan knew it was pointless. If his Dad had come home, the first thing he would have done would have been to find his son. Still, Alan couldn't stop himself. Shouting for his Dad as he descended the stairs, Alan almost laughed at himself. He was calling for someone who wasn't there only to chase away the silent shadows that continued to plague him. Still bundled in his duvet, something he only did when he was ill, Alan continued down the winding staircase. His journey became slightly more unorthodox when his foot caught on the corner of the duvet and the material slipped on the wooden board of the stairs. With a muffled thump, Alan landed at the bottom.

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_Fire had a voice._

_It whispered. It could roar. And, as Alan was learning, it could scream. He stared in horror around the room, the walls dripping with an almost liquid flame, its source the ceiling. Alan slowly lifted his head, reluctant to look, but unable to avert his gaze. He knew what awaited him. Alan uttered a startled gasp of shock and horror and …_

_It was dark out, cold. The pavement glistened with recent rain, the air smelled of thunder. _Ozone,_ his mind supplied. Glancing heavenwards, Alan frowned. The earlier rain clouds had been swept away, leaving only wispy counterparts hanging in their wake, certainly not thunderstorms. The stars glittered between them, frozen in the dark sky, watching with icy distance the actions of man._

_Alan shivered, drawing his coat about him tighter. It was too big for him, borrowed from a much taller brother, rock salt bullets in the pockets, Alan knew, should he care to look. His attention moved back to his brothers, standing beside him. John and Scott flanked him, Virgil and Gordon on their other sides, each man's gaze riveted on the woman who stood on the bridge's railing. Her white dress fluttered in a breeze only she could feel, her dark hair lifting slightly also as she stared back. With an almost casual grace, she turned away and let her body fall forward._

_Each and every Tracy took a step forward, as if to catch her, pull her back. Alan was aware of Scott saying something, of Virgil replying with a shake of his head, but he ignored them, his attention focused on the spot he'd last seen her, his mind conjuring a face, a man, someone she had known, he felt. He was dead, Alan was sure of it, although how he could have known this stranger's fate was beyond him. He joined his brothers at the spot the woman had disappeared, slower than the rest, knowing before they did what they'd find._

_Nothing. Not a glimpse of the white figure appeared in the water below. Alan had known that, because she hadn't really been there in the first place. Not tonight, at least. She was long since gone. The smell was still strong however, the cold still present and once more Alan hugged himself. He found himself turning towards a sudden, bright light and …_

_He was now warmer, without the jacket, staring at a wall in a motel room. The wall was covered in drawings and scratchy notes, highlighted in red marker pen. Pages had been ripped from books and pinned up also, printouts from a computer accompanying them. Alan found he couldn't read the words, his attention wouldn't focus, as if his mind kept sliding from them. He was aware of something else, a name … J? Jerry?... Jerico? And a presence, absent now, but having left its stamp on the room and its contents._

_Dad?_

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"Dad?"

Alan opened his eyes, the word dying on his lips, surprised to find daylight streaming in the misted glass pane of the front door. Slowly he uncurled himself from his uncomfortable position within the duvet, wondering if he'd been waiting for his Dad at the bottom of the stairs as he had done when he was younger and fallen asleep. The pain in his head and hip, startled into life at the movement, reminded Alan he'd fallen and he peeled away his jeans to inspect the damage.

A large, dark bruise greeted him, and Alan frowned for a moment, until his sluggish mind connected with the weight in his pocket. Slipping his hand in, he retrieved the broken remains of his cell phone. Frowning and rubbing at his temple in an effort to appease his headache, Alan sighed. He glanced at his watch, his eyes widening in surprise. It was after eight. Frighteningly, he'd been unconscious for ten hours.

His father's firm, reassuring voice flooded his mind as he recalled the words he'd heard so often regarding head injuries. Ten hours was a long time to be out, he'd most likely given himself concussion.

_Hospital,_ he told himself, but his resolve wavered. Dad still hadn't come home, and he hadn't sent anyone. If Jeff Tracy knew he wasn't going to get to his son, he'd have made arrangements. Which led Alan to believe Dad hadn't known he wasn't going to make it home.

Thoughts of his Dad lying in a hospital bed filled him with panic, but the rational voice in his head reminded him all the local hospitals knew Jeff Tracy and knew to contact his sons in an emergency. Alan therefore had a couple of options.

He could go upstairs and contact his brothers or he could contact Ruddy again. Giving the treacherous stairs a sour glance, Alan climbed unsteadily to his feet and made his way back to his father's study, considering his next move.

It was Friday. John's lecture began today and went through until Monday, he would have turned off his phone for the whole weekend to allow himself some peace. Scott was definitely out of reach also. The air force had him locked away in secrecy, testing some new aircraft they'd been excited about.

Virgil was similarly holed up, head no doubt stuck in an engine. He, at least, could carry his phone with him and Alan typed in the number swiftly. Virgil's recording, voice only, sprang into life and Alan, disappointed, swiftly told his brother that their Dad wasn't home, and that he didn't know what to do, since Jeff hadn't sent anyone.

"And my phones broken," Alan added softly. He didn't mention the colossal headache he nursed, there was no need to worry his brother unnecessarily. "I'm going to try Gordon now," he signed off.

Once more, Alan got the recorded message. Frustrated, Alan explained the situation again, adding that he'd tried Virgil and couldn't get him. "I guess I'll try John," he mumbled and disconnected.

As expected, John's phone went straight to message. Without bothering to leave one, Alan turned off the recording of his brother with a sigh. Tears prickled at his eyes and he sniffed them back, determined he wasn't going to cry. He had one last number to try, after all.

Again using the emergency line – and if this didn't count as one, Alan didn't know what did – Alan almost wept with relief when Ruddy answered in person.

"Alan?" the calm, controlled manner was gone in an instant, Ruddy's eyes widening in concern. "What happened?"

Alan frowned. How on earth did Ruddy guess …

"Alan, answer me! Where does that blood come from?"

"Blood?" Alan replied dumbly.

"Alan, you've got blood caked to the side of your face!" Ruddy's customary cool had blown. "Talk to me!"

"I fell down the stairs," Alan whimpered, feeling every inch the fool. "I'm fine."

"Where's your father?"

"I don't know. He didn't come home and he hasn't sent anyone."

Ruddy wrenched his control back from the brink. "I'm on my way," he said calmly. "Stay where you are and don't go to sleep."

"I'm not tired," Alan told him, surprised and confused.

Ruddy sighed with a tired smile. "That's good news, Champ. I'll be there soon."

Alan got up from the chair and made his way to the bathroom. He jumped when he caught sight of his reflection. Dark smudges stood out sharply from beneath his huge eyes, the left side of his face covered in rivulets of flaking dried blood. His skin was ghostly pale and the image reminded him of the strange dream he'd had while unconscious. The woman who'd fallen from the bridge echoed in his memory, ghostly fingers trailing ice across the tight skin of his shoulders.

Shaking the dream from him, Alan set about cleaning himself up. He found the source of the blood along his hairline at his temple, a small, shallow cut that had bled profusely. Alan could feel his pulse beat in time with the headache that emerged from the area. His gaze found the shower and suddenly all Alan wanted was to climb in.

Once he was clean and dressed in fresh clothes, Alan felt better and he retreated back to his father's study to wait. Knowing Ruddy was on his way was doing a lot to settle his nerves. He heard the door open, the man's voice calling his name even as his footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Ruddy opened the door, striding over to the boy, dropping car keys and wallet on the desk. "Alan," he began, obviously concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Alan replied. "I'm fine."

"Headache?"

Alan was about to deny it when Ruddy stiffened. With an almost inhuman scream, Ruddy was torn off his feet, hitting the ceiling hard enough to knock plaster dust to the floor and Alan cried out in alarm. Within seconds, with a whoosh of heat, Ruddy was ablaze and Alan, panicking and crying, ran for the fire extinguisher, only to find his way blocked as the fire spread down the walls, liquid heat beating him back.

It was if he was in a dream. Alan slowly lifted his head, reluctant to look, but unable to avert his gaze. He knew what awaited him. Alan uttered a startled gasp of shock and horror and watched as Ruddy tried to speak.

"Run!"

Ruddy's face was now covered with the terrible fire and Alan scanned the room once more, desperately trying to find something to help. He screamed in terror as a black figure emerged from the wall flames, eyes burning with the same colour as it moved towards Alan.

Instinctively scooping Ruddy's wallet from the desk, along with his ruined phone, Alan fled the burning study. He flew down the stairs, wrenched open the door and sped down the drive. Despite it being a Saturday, the world was empty. The Tracy's lived in a quiet area, the house alone and surrounded by grounds and a high wall. Emerging from the gates, Alan didn't think about his destination, his feet taking him anywhere as long as it was away.

Alan ran through suburbs, heading for the city centre and its bus station. He wasn't thinking at this point, acting on instinct only and it was only half an hour later, exhausted and limping, that Alan slowed, hoping that the wallet he held contained cash. Taking a moment to organise his scattered thoughts, Alan scanned the time table and opened the wallet, closing his eyes in relief when several fifty dollar bills stared back at him. Opening his eyes, the first destination caught his gaze. Boston.

John was in Boston.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'd like to thank all those who kindly left a review - it really means a lot to hear your opinions.**

**Must mention - I've taken the plot to the pilot episode and placed the Tracy brothers within it. The Winchesters, wonderful as they are, don't feature. I have twisted the plot to fit with my purposes, and I've added my own touches, but the broad plotline belongs to Kripke.  
**

John Tracy smiled as he left the lecture hall. So far, it had been even better than expected and he couldn't wait for the last presentation. He glanced at the sky, noting the clouds with distaste and pulled his warm wool coat tighter about him. It was another cold night and would more than likely rain. Or sleet, he thought darkly, the winters being what they were in Boston.

The crowd around him parted slowly, friends and acquaintances calling goodnights as they left and John edged his way from them, offering his own quiet words to those he knew. While he had been invited to two different outings tonight, John had politely declined, deciding on calling his family instead. He hadn't spoken to Alan since he'd left, the kid being a little put out at being the only one of the five that would have to remain in the house alone, having school to attend. John knew that Alan would have forgiven him that first night, the mercurial moods familiar to his older brother, yet he'd promised their father that he wouldn't call until the weekend. Jeff wanted to enjoy his time with his youngest son without the interruptions of older brothers turning Alan's head.

While Jeff was close to all his children, it was still hard to make time for each of them. John knew his Dad wanted to treat Alan, quality time just the two of them and John also knew that that meant an understanding amount of space. But John wanted to tell the kid about the lectures and what he thought was going to happen in the final one tomorrow. While Alan didn't have the quiet intensity John brought to his passion, he did love the stars and all that space entailed. He'd have gotten a kick out of the presentation, if he'd managed to have stayed still long enough.

When he's older, John promised himself. Then he'll really enjoy it.

For now, Alan was simply too young, there was too much going on around him to distract his attention and he hadn't pinpointed his obsessions the way his brothers had. In many ways, Alan seemed to encompass each of his brother's loves.

"John!"

The shout was all the warning he got before his arms were full of twelve year old brother.

"Alan! What are you doing here? Where's Dad?"

From the region of John's chest, a muffled wail replied. "I don't know!"

For the first time, John realised his little brother was out without a coat, shivering in the embrace as he pressed himself close to John. Pulling back to study the boy, John frowned at the state of Alan's clothes, his pale face and tired eyes. But it was the child's blue lips that spurred him into action; pushing Alan's words to the back of his mind, John tore off his coat and thrust Alan's arms into it, the way he had dressed the boy when he was younger.

"I couldn't reach anyone," Alan told him, wide eyes searching John's face. "And I fell and broke my phone and Ruddy …"

John paused in doing up the buttons when Alan trailed off. "Ruddy?" he prompted.

Alan's lips clamped tightly shut and he shook his head sharply. "I'm cold," he mumbled.

"I know," John sympathised. Wrapping an arm around the trembling boy, John hailed a cab.

Alan had refused to talk during the short ride back to John's hotel, huddling in his brother's coat and staring stonily out the window as the sleet hit the pane in short, sharp drops. John hadn't pressed him, not with the cabbie keeping one ear on them, and in the silence, his thoughts swirled through his mind. All he knew was that their father hadn't come home Thursday night and Alan had somehow travelled up to Boston on his own, without stopping to pack a bag or even grab a jacket. Worry settled in John's stomach, cold and heavy.

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Once in the warm rooms of the hotel, Alan let out a little sigh that sounded very much like relief, and John couldn't hold back any longer. Knowing his brother had had to make his way up to Boston with the worry of his Dad's disappearance looming over him didn't make John feel good, although he had to admit he was proud Alan had done it at all. Still, he wondered why the kid had left home in the first place, instead of making his way to Tracy Industries.

"Alan?" he softly shook his brother's shoulder. "What happened?"

The boy looked up at him, blinking back tears and John's heart squeezed. The last few days couldn't have been easy on him.

"Dad didn't come home," Alan said softly. "So I waited until seven thirty and tried his office. Ruddy said he'd already left, that he was probably stuck in traffic. So I sat in his office and waited."

John smiled slightly at the thought of little Allie in the big room. "Go on," he urged gently when Alan seemed hesitant to continue.

"I fell asleep," Alan sighed. "When I woke up, it was dark. I knew Dad would have found me if he'd gotten home, but I wanted to look for him anyway. I was walking down the stairs when I fell." He paused and lifted a shaking hand to his temple gingerly. "I … I hit my head and broke my phone and passed out."

John's smile vanished. "For how long? Allie? Do you know?"

Alan's face scrunched up, the way he did when he was going to say something his listener wasn't going to like. "A while," he hedged, wincing when John tilted his head to get a good look at him.

"How long's a while?" John asked, studying the healing wound on his brother's temple. How had he not noticed this before now? It didn't look deep, but Alan's next words were troubling.

"Around ten hours?" he made it sound like a question, but John knew it wasn't.

"God, Alan," he exclaimed. "Did you get it checked out?"

"There wasn't any time!" Alan explained. "I tried Virgil, Gordon and you, but I couldn't get through to anyone. So I tried Dads office again, and Ruddy said he'd come over."

"Good," John said, approvingly. "Then what?"

Alan turned his face away.

"Alan? Then what?"

Alan sniffed. "There was a fire," he said softly. "Just like … he was on the … it was exactly the same, John."

John frowned, fearing his brother had damaged himself more that he'd thought. "The same?"

Once more Alan silenced himself, turning his face away and tightening his jaw. It was a typically stubborn pose, one that John had tangled with before, but this time he refused to back down.

"Out with it, kid," he demanded, channelling his inner Tracy. John could be stubborn too. "The same as what?"

Alan's posture didn't change, he refused to meet John's eyes, and clenched his jaw even tighter. John took a calming breath and thought how best to help his little brother out.

"How did the fire start?" he asked.

Alan shut his eyes. Wrong question, then. John ground his teeth while he finished counting to ten, wondering if Alan had started it. The idea wouldn't leave him alone, explaining as it did his brother's reluctance to talk about it.

"Was it you?" he pressed.

"No," Alan replied tightly.

John accepted the answer, doubting his brother would lie about it. "Alright. Where was it?"

"Dad's study."

"Was it confined to the one room?"

Alan's shoulders sagged a little. "The last time I looked, yeah," he agreed quietly.

John attempted to work out what that meant, while Alan was feeling talkative. "So, you left the house as it was burning? Did you call the fire brigade?"

Alan shook his head, finally turning to his older brother and John could see the anguish in his cobalt eyes. John cupped the boy's cheek in one hand and felt Alan tremble as he let out a shaky sigh.

"Alan," John breathed softly. "Tell me."

Alan stared at his brother, finding only love and concern in the familiar features. The past few days had been hard, he'd forced himself to keep it together, to not think, to only allow the need to find his brothers to enter his mind and now that he was reunited with one, his defences crumbled and he allowed himself to be a little boy again.

"It was horrible, John." he whispered, brushing the back of his hand across the tears springing to his eyes. "It came out of nowhere. It all happened so fast."

"Start at the beginning, Sprout," John suggested, moving them over to his bed and lightly pressing Alan's shoulder in a gesture to sit. The kids legs practically gave out under him half way down and John wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulders.

"Alright, so Dad didn't come home Thursday night and we were unreachable," John recapped, feeling the dark twist of guilt at the knowledge. "You spent the night unconscious and when you woke up, you called Ruddy. He came to the house and there was a fire, in Dad's study. That right so far?"

"Yeah," Alan sniffed, trying to stem the tears that threatened at the corner of his eyes. "It came out of nowhere, honest John. I didn't start it. I couldn't, not something like that."

John bit the inside of cheek to stop himself from interrupting. Just what had Alan meant by that? He nodded, indicating that Alan continue.

Alan took a breath. "Ruddy just kinda … yelped. He - it sounds crazy, even to me, John."

"Go ahead, kiddo."

Alan's eyes became distant as he relived those terrifying moments. "He was lifted up to the ceiling and he hit it, hard. When he did, he burst into flames. The noise … the heat, it was intense. And I could hear him screaming." Alan blinked. "The fire spread really quickly, it was dripping down the walls. It blocked me from getting the extinguisher and I … I looked up."

Alan shuddered and John's skin prickled, his heart nearly stopping. Surely not, not this? John shifted, worried and sick to his stomach.

Alan didn't seem to notice his discomfort, continuing to speak as if he was far away, removed from the frightening memory. "I didn't want to," he said softly. "I didn't want to see it again. But I couldn't stop myself and I looked up. Ruddy screamed at me to run, but I didn't want to leave him."

Tears were now appearing, several dripping down Alan's cheeks and he brushed absently at them as he spoke. "I looked around for something that could stop the fire and saw something step out of the wall. A shadow, a man, I think. His eyes were on fire too."

Alan stopped when he felt John jump. His older brother had been steadily losing his colour as he realised all Alan had been left to deal with, but every last bit of blood left his face at Alan's last sentence.

"John?" Alan bit his bottom lip, worried his brother thought him insane, but John stared at him, his strong grip biting into Alan's shoulders.

"Did he touch you? Hurt you?"

Alan shook his head, staring at John's pale face.

"Did he speak? Allie?"

"N-no," Alan stuttered. "I ran away."

"Thank God," John breathed, dropping his hands only long enough to gather Alan to him, almost crushing the child in his firm hug. "Alan, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you had to face that. All on your own too."

Alan sniffed against Johns shoulder. "I couldn't reach you, John."

"I know, I'm sorry." John's hand brushed lightly through his brother's hair, an old habit each of the older brothers were prone to, a soothing gesture learned from their mother. "I promised Dad I'd give you guys a few days space."

Alan's arms tightened around his brother. "I wish you hadn't."

"Me too, kid. Me too."

The two were quiet for a moment, until a small voice broke the stillness.

"D'ya think I'm crazy?"

"No," John promised. "Far from it, Allie."

John, despite his fears, his worry and the unholy rollercoaster his insides were currently riding, untangled himself from his brother. The kid did a damn good impression of a spider monkey at times.

"Where are you going?" Alan asked, sounding worried.

John ruffled his brother's hair. "I'm not going anywhere, Sprout. You're going for a long hot bath while I give our brothers a shout."

"But their phones aren't on," Alan reminded him.

John smiled slowly. "Don't need no phones, kiddo. Go on, now. Bathroom."

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John Tracy displaying his anger was a sight to behold.

Unlike his brother's, the famous Tracy temper didn't show itself in a angry, firey outburst. Even Virgil, slowest to temper, could blow up spectacularly. Not John, though. John burned with icy intensity, so hot it was cold. That anger could blister you before you felt any pain.

So when his furious voice thundered through his brother's thoughts late on Sunday evening, all three Tracy's felt as if their minds had been bombed. The message was succinct, but the overlaying tension, anger and worry exploded in their heads, remaining for long hours after. The words themselves, while vague to an outsider, made their heads spin.

_Get to Boston tonight! It's back for Alan!_

John sat on the bed afterwards, dazed and exhausted. He rarely used his talent to project his thoughts, and never so far before. The other three Tracy's were scattered across America and John thanked his lucky stars he was so in tune with them, enabling him to find them among so many people. Still, it had left him weak, all his anger burning out, fading as his energy bled from him.

This was how Alan found him, perched on the edge of his bed, one hand supporting him against the mattress, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

"John?" Alan, struggling in his older brother's long sweatpants, hurried to his side. "What's wrong?"

John struggled to open his eyes. Everything was shiny, a luminescent brightness that hurt to look at, a bad side effect of overusing his talent. Alan burned brighter than anything else in the room and although it pained him to look, John couldn't tare his eyes away.

"I'm okay, kid," he answered quietly.

Alan's small face creased in concern, but he changed the subject. "Did you get a hold of the others?"

John nodded, immediately wishing he hadn't. "Yeah, no problem. I'm sure they'll be turning up soon."

"How?"

"Oh, the usual way, I imagine."

"John?"

"Travelling 'Air Gordon' is something of a wonder, Al." John lent back on the bed and closed his eyes. Alan watched him in confusion for a moment, before giving in to the lure of the bed. Climbing onto the mattress beside his brother, Alan wriggled until he was comfortable, falling into the deepest sleep he'd had since this ordeal had begun.

Opening one eye sleepily as the mattress dipped beside him, John rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm around his kid brother, tugging him close. He waited for several minutes until Alan's thoughts became his own and watched the boy dream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks once again to all those who left a review! Really appreciate them.**

**This chapter deals with exposition a bit more, so although its light on action, it goes a long way in explaining our boys.**

Light, yet insistent, knocking awoke the twelve year old from a soundless dream where he replayed Ruddy's death on a loop along with the other horrors from that night. The knocking came again, a little louder this time and Alan turned to look at John. The older Tracy was fast asleep and showing no signs of waking. With a huff, Alan pulled himself from out of his brother's embrace and staggered to the door. His eyes widened in surprise when he opened it.

"Hiya, kid," Scott grinned, stepping into the room and ruffling Alan's hair. Virgil smiled at his youngest brother from the hallway, but pushed Gordon after Scott before he came in himself. Gordon offered Alan a weak smile, looking exhausted and mumbling something about room service.

"Better not, Gordo," Scott told him, scanning the room out of habit. "We want to maintain a low profile."

"Right," Gordon sighed, sinking into the single, plush chair in the corner of the room.

"Here."

Virgil handed his second youngest brother a candy bar, which Gordon tore into ravenously. Scott wordlessly gave him a second and tapped a silver case, which held a couple of shots of insulin. Gordon scowled, shaking his head and practically inhaling Scott's offering. Alan watched him uneasily.

"Are you alright?"

Gordon nodded with a lopsided grin and a sudden thought struck Alan. "Scott, d'ya think John might be ill too? He was talking strangely earlier, and he didn't wake up when you knocked."

Scott glanced at Virgil, who immediately moved to check on the middle Tracy boy.

"I'm sure he's fine, Alan," Scott soothed, receiving a nod from Virgil.

"Really? Cos he wasn't making much sense after he called you. Actually, before he called. He said he didn't need phones," Alan added, scowling at Scott as if it was somehow his fault.

Scott smiled. "He did, huh?"

"Yeah," Alan nodded. "Then he started saying all sorts of weird things after he called you."

"Yeah," Gordon grinned. "He can get a little screwy when-"

"Wait," Scott interrupted, turning back to Alan. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing," Alan grumbled. "I don't understand what's going on, I don't know what you're talking about and I don't know why I keep dreaming the same thing all the time!"

A heavy silence filled the room and Alan realised what he said.

"I … it's just …"

"What do you dream about, Allie?" Scott asked softly, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"The fire," the boy whispered, caught by his brother's eyes and unable to break the connection. "I dream about the fire and … other stuff. Always the same."

"It could be post traumatic stress," Virgil hedged quietly.

Scott didn't look away from his youngest brother. "When was the first time you had this dream?"

"The night I fell." Alan paused. "Scott, I thought it was cos I'd hit my head! But then the fire started and … it came true."

As expected, Scott inspected the nearly healed wound on his brother's temple, before dropping his hands with a sigh.

"Alright, Alan," he said. "I think it's time. Sit down."

"Oh boy," Gordon grinned. "This oughta be good."

"Quiet, Gordy," Scott reprimanded him. He turned back to the youngest Tracy and took a deep breath. This wasn't something he'd ever thought he'd have to handle, he'd been more than willing to leave this conversation to Dad. They hadn't planned on this, but he'd simply have to make do.

"Scott?" Alan's voice was soft, unsure. "What's going on?"

Scott was silent a moment longer, trying to marshal his scattered thoughts. How the hell was he meant to start this?

"Well," he coughed. "The thing is … you know mom died in a fire?"

Alan was surprised. What had all this to do with mom?

"It wasn't an ordinary fire," Scott explained.

Alan frowned. He felt regret, loss. He felt anger and fear. The strange thing was, none of those feelings were from him. He'd never remembered his mother, it was hard to miss her, or feel angry that she'd died. He'd never been afraid that he could lose someone, like the others had, because he'd never known her to lose her. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly feeling it all now. Scott continued, oblivious, and his words brought Alan back to the situation sharply.

"I'm sure you'd recognise the traits of that fire, Alan. You came face to face with it just recently."

"Mom died like Ruddy did?" Alan asked, breathless.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. She was targeted. Ah, because she was …" he trailed off helplessly, glancing at Virgil.

"Alan, mom was special," the other man said, taking up the challenge. "And some … people … didn't like that."

"What?" Alan asked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh good grief," Gordon sighed. "What these morons are trying to sugar coat for you is; mom was an angel and some demon had it in for her."

Pandemonium broke out, Alan demanding Gordon be serious. Scott started in on him too, furious with the way Gordon had handled it and the boy himself was loudly defending his method. Virgil stepped away from his brothers, pinching the bridge of his nose in an unknowing imitation of his father.

"Guys," he said quietly. "You're gonna wake John."

No-one listened and Virgil sighed heavily. Waking the middle Tracy child while he was in this state was going to be detrimental to everyone's health. John, because he needed time out to recover from his monumental effort, and the other's because John needed time out to recover from his monumental effort. If he woke now, John was going to be pissed. Very pissed. And not at all concerned with who knew it. The drain in John's energy not only resulted in splitting migraines and the ability to see psychic energy, but it gave him unstable mood swings. If he woke up now, he'd probably weigh in with his fists before he even knew what he was doing, laughing hysterically.

Virgil shuddered. It was the laughter that always got to him.

Doing the only thing he could, and perhaps in a way that would bring the boys back to the topic at hand, Virgil created a field of energy around his sleeping younger brother. Naturally, it was Alan, his emphatic nature picking up on the slightest shiver of discord running through his brothers, that noticed it first.

"Virgil?"

His shocked voice silenced the others, while the breathless, frightened way he spoke tore at Virgil's heart.

"It's alright, Alan," Virgil said quietly, his famed calm in place. "John needs to sleep right now. I'm just protecting him."

"How?" Alan's voice was still shaky, his huge eyes widening further. "Virgil, how'd you do that?"

Scott took charge again, moving to stand behind his youngest brother and speaking quietly, so as to not spook the boy. "What Gordon said was true, Alan. Mom was an angel. She passed on some of her people's gifts to us. Virgil can create solid energy. It's not something he should do for long or often, as the strain can stress his facial structures."

Alan, his own, as yet undisclosed talents shining through, understood. "The nose bleeds?"

"They're the beginning, yes," Scott agreed. "Alright, Virge. Lower it. We'll be quiet."

Virgil nodded, and the shimmering wall vanished.

"You really flew 'Air Gordon'?" Alan asked, trembling.

Gordon grinned. "It's not really flying, Allie. It's translocating. I can be anywhere, anytime I want. Whatever I'm holding, I carry with me. People, objects, anything. When I heard John, I went to Scott and Virgil and brought them here with me."

"Again, it's a talent he shouldn't overuse," Scott said, the warning low in his voice. "Gordon's metabolism's pretty shaky; he burns off too much fat and sugar for it to cope with."

"The shock thing?" Alan asked, thinking of the times his brother had suffered with hypoglycaemic shock. The family had announced Gordon was diabetic around Alan's fourth birthday.

"That's right. It's why he eats so much and why we all carry candy and insulin with us," Scott replied.

"And John?"

"John's a psychic. Mostly he can pick up on group thoughts, but if he really concentrates he can get a single, individual mind. Earlier he reversed his power, projecting a thought to us instead, something I'd rather he didn't do. It's much more difficult for him and it causes quite a lot of strain."

Alan finally turned to face him. "What can you do?"

Scott smiled. "I can move objects with my mind," he revealed. "I can bend them, lift them, turn them. I can force them to my will."

Alan smiled at Scott's enthusiasm, but had to ask. "What does it do to you?"

"Scott passes out," Virgil answered.

Alan turned, unimpressed, back to his eldest brother. "You faint?"

Scott glowered, while Gordon sniggered in the background.

"It's a little more complicated than that, Sprout," Virgil explained.

"Not much more," Gordon laughed.

"Alright, that's enough," Scott sighed, having obviously been through the teasing many times before. In truth he often suffered concussions, but felt there was no need to worry Alan unnecessarily. He looked his kid brother over carefully.

"We've been wondering for years what you would turn out to do," he said. "I thought it'd go more down the empath route. You've always been good at guessing peoples feelings."

"Now we know. Precognition," Virgil smiled, the mechanic in him needing to label his brother's talent.

"I think it may be more than that."

The four spun to John's bed. The man was lying on his back staring at the ceiling, as pale as the sheets beneath him. "I caught some of his dreams, guys. I don't think he remembers half of them."

"What are you doing awake?" Virgil asked, sitting on the bed and lying a hand on his brother's forehead. It was a useless gesture medically as there was nothing wrong with John's temperature and Virgil had known that, but it was a comfort to both of them and John allowed his brother the touch.

"Relax, I got enough time out to be civil," John grumbled. "I won't hit anyone, promise."

"Really, cos that was a big shout, John," Virgil fretted.

"Yeah, my ears are still ringing," Gordon agreed.

"The light's gone," John replied, and his brother's relaxed.

"What does that mean?" Alan asked, almost afraid of the answer. Did it mean John was blind?

"John gets migraines, as well as uncontrollable mood swings," Virgil explained. "The migraines allow him to see psychic energy, which is really painful when there's one in the room. As it is, his own energy flows around the place, so he's never going to escape it."

Scott nudged his younger brother out of the way to take his seat on John's bed. The man was still not looking at anyone, fixed on the ceiling. "John? What did you mean about Alan's dreams?"

Alan crept forward also, curious.

"I think our little Sprout's got a much stronger clairvoyance than precog alone," John answered, a little woodenly. Alan's stomach clenched. He'd frightened his brother with his dreams.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I didn't know I was dreaming! Except about the lady on the bridge and that wall."

John finally turned to look at him, his gaze connecting with the boy. "It's my fault. I tapped into your mind, kid. I wanted to see for myself what you were dreaming of, since I couldn't get a straight answer from you."

"I'm sorry! I didn't want to frighten you," Alan cried. He choked back a sob, unsure if the emotion was completely his.

Scott touched John's shoulder. "Tone it down, Johnny," he said softly. "You're gonna give the kid nightmares."

Alan forced himself to calm down also, not wanting Scott to think he couldn't handle what was happening. Some of the feelings went away and Alan opened his eyes in amazement. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," John replied, dredging a smile up from somewhere. "It was all you, Allie."

"What's this all mean?" Gordon, ever impatient, demanded.

"It means," Scott sighed, "that I was right. Alan's an empath."

"As well as a clairvoyant," John reminded them. "And it works both ways. He made me feel calm just then. He can project his feelings onto others."

"Handy," Gordon mused.

"Dangerous," Scott argued.

"Never mind that for now," Virgil once more steered the conversation straight. "What did you mean about the clairvoyance, John?"

"He's a medium," the man replied. "He can see the future, but I think he can also watch the past. If the memory is strong enough, he'll pick up on it. It's not as strong as the future, which is why it kicked in subconsciously."

Scott watched as John frowned. "What else?"

"I could hear voices, Scott. They wanted to talk to Alan. All of them. They could sense him and they demanded his attention. They got quite angry when he wouldn't give it to them."

Alan shivered. He didn't remember that, and that was unsettling enough alone.

"Do you know who these people were?" Scott asked.

"Use your head," Gordon snorted. "He's talking about ghosts."

John nodded. "Alan's got all the traits of a strong clairvoyant. He's gonna have to work hard to get them under control."

"Why don't I remember that?" Alan asked, worried.

Scott reached out to the boy, who joined his brothers on the bed. "That's probably our fault."

"How?"

"Mom gave us these gifts as she died. We were old enough, mostly," and here Scott shot Gordon a little look, "to control them, and work on them. But you were just a baby and … well, you were plagued, kiddo. Day and night. The spirits wanted you to help them, wherever you went. There weren't many at home, but outside? You hated it. And you were too young to communicate properly with them."

"We had some seriously pissed off ghosts on our hands," Gordon remembered.

"They could only see you as someone to communicate their needs too, they didn't realise you were a baby," Virgil explained. "They got angry. It's a base emotion, and those are often the only ones left to them."

"We couldn't bear to see you so upset, and with everything else going on, Dad thought it best to … protect you," Gordon said quietly.

"Protect me how?"

"He got your powers suppressed. Don't ask me how or by whom, I've no idea," Scott shrugged. "He said when you were old enough, you'd break down the walls. And that you'd probably not have the same talents."

"Well, it looks like he does," John sighed. "Trust me on this. Alan's got more talent than he knows what to do with."

"Empathy, precognition, memory sensitivity, spiritual communication … that's it so far, right?" Virgil listed.

"So far? What more do you think's lurking in his head?" Scott demanded, worried.

"Well, for a start, we have no idea what his price is," Virgil responded reasonably. "I mean, no nose bleeds, headaches or bright lights, right Sprout?"

Alan shook his head. "No. Nothing. Except I can't remember what John saw."

"That might be it," Gordon suggested. "A little bit of amnesia. I mean, he's bombarded with other people's memories and demands, right? If I remember rightly, and I'm not sure I do, spirits don't really talk. They much prefer to show. That mean's they're forcing their thoughts on Alan, making him relive what they've been through."

"Right," Virgil agreed. "His brain must get so scrambled he can't remember who he is. He blocks it out, to give himself time to right himself."

Scott had been watching the boy while the others had been speaking. Alan looked ready to drop. It wasn't surprising, after all, he'd had a bad time of it recently, not much chance for a good sleep and it was well after midnight.

"Alright, guys. Time to crash. Lights out in ten."

It was his 'big brother' voice, the same no nonsense tone that had sent his younger siblings off to bed when they had been small, and programmed as they were, the others reluctantly obeyed. As no one had anything with him save John, it didn't really take anytime before everyone had settled in. Scott placed Alan next to John, the two blonds easily settling into the close, comfortable positions they had adopted earlier. Scott oversaw his other brothers into piles of blankets on the floor before making a nest for himself. He surveyed each of them quickly, once he'd turned off the lights with a thought.

John had slipped back to sleep easily. Exhausted, his body had been all too happy to obey Scott's order. Virgil, although having built the field around John for a few moments, wasn't tested the same way his brother's had been, but still, the night had been long and he was a heavy sleeper anyway. Virgil, the sleeping bear, had a reputation for liking his bed. Gordon, understandably, was shattered. He'd been yawning for the last half of the conversation anyway, ready to curl up and bury himself under a pile of blankets. When Scott had mentioned bed, he'd been the first to make his nest.

Scott's attention turned back to the bed. Alan had sprawled on his stomach, his favourite sleeping position, one of John's hands resting on his back. The younger boy had pressed his side to John's chest, seeking comfort. Scott's gaze lingered on his youngest brother's face, turned from John and displayed to the rest of the room. Even in sleep, he didn't look completely relaxed. The events of the last week had taken their toll on the little Tracy, he'd lost weight, he was pale, his face looked gaunt and a permanent frown creased his smooth brow.

Scott sighed, hoping the dreams would leave the kid alone for tonight. If what they thought was true, the most frightening aspect of Alan regaining his powers, he was going to need all the rest he could get. With a small sigh and a lot on his mind, Scott fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**I forgot to mention - I don't own Thunderbirds. I'm far too young!!**

"Will you be quiet?"

"Me be quiet? You be quiet!"

Scott sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot this morning. He forcibly pulled Gordon away from Virgil, sending the older of the pair a frown. The bigger man, broad and strong while his brothers were tall and leanly muscled, took a deep breath.

"Sorry, Gordy. I didn't mean to snap."

Just an inch taller than Virgil but much slighter, Gordon nodded sharply. "Yeah, I know. Me too."

With tentative smiles, they turned away and back to their respective tasks. Scott took a moment to let his breath out slowly, before checking on the pair on the bed. Both the blond Tracy's remained out for the count, thankfully, despite the bickering.

There was no harm in it, for the moment. Virgil was testy at this time of the morning on a good day, and he'd had little sleep and less coffee, while Gordon's temper could be due to inactivity and his late night sugar crash. Which was why Scott had organised them into recon and scrounging, respectively. An idle Tracy was trouble, as their father often remarked.

The thought of Dad brought a pang he hadn't expected and Scott was pleased when Virgil and Gordon left for their missions. Alone, so to speak, he had a chance to think beyond the immediate.

Alan had mentioned a wall last night, which Scott's mind had labelled under 'interesting'. After what John had revealed, however, that had moved swiftly into 'important' and once Alan had recharged and had a good meal, Scott intended to know about that wall. Step one completed, Scott moved on.

They couldn't stay in John's room, it was stupid to imagine no one would see the other four at some point. No, they needed somewhere else, somewhere with less security and interest, where there wouldn't be anybody enquiring if everything was to their satisfaction and insisting on changing the towels twice a day. Scott briefly courted the idea of fleeing the city, but he and the boys were suited to city life. Here they could blend in, become part of the crowd and they knew where to run – even if they hadn't been in Boston in their lives before, they'd know where they could turn. Out in some drive through town where the main street was the only street, they'd stand out horribly, at least until they could adapt to the lifestyle, at any rate.

But a move to a quieter place was definitely the next step – possibly even before he got to quiz Alan. Who knew what the kid might reveal? What horrors lay beneath his eyelids waiting to be relived? Alan wasn't going to like it, Scott was damn sure of that. Turning to the object of his thoughts, Scott hid his surprise as large cobalt eyes gazed back at him.

"Morning," he smiled softly, checking to make sure John was still asleep. Alan didn't return the greeting. He watched his oldest brother a little warily, untangling himself from John's grasp with distracted tenderness.

"You've got that look," he accused Scott.

"What look?"

"That look. You're worried and you're thinking of a plan."

Scott, who had no idea he processed such a look, raised an eyebrow. "Well," he allowed, "I do have a plan."

Almost to himself, Alan nodded. "I knew it."

Finally free of John, the youngest of the Tracy sons stood. He seemed to wobble for a moment, and concerned, Scott rose to steady him, but Alan pushed away from him, glaring.

"You okay?" Scott pressed, backing off all the same.

Alan nodded, regarding his sleeping brother a moment. "John's really tired, isn't he?"

"Last night took a lot of effort," Scott reminded him. Alan looked confused, before the memory of what he had learnt widened his eyes. Uncharacteristically, Alan was quiet, giving Scott a cause for concern.

"Allie?"

The boy forgot about his need for independence and hurried into Scott's waiting arms. His face hidden in Scott's chest, Allie spoke plaintively.

"Where's Dad, Scott?"

The eldest Tracy brother shut his eyes, glad Alan couldn't see his expression and at a loss to answer the boy. "I don't know, kiddo," he managed eventually.

Alan broke the stretching silence. "Who's the man in the fire?"

Scott pulled back to look at him. He didn't want to frighten Alan, but he knew that keeping him ignorant couldn't help. Alan needed to be aware, if not of the whole truth.

"He's a demon, Al," he said slowly.

"He killed Mom," Alan murmured, refusing to meet his brother's gaze. "And he killed Ruddy."

Scott floundered, wondering what to say. "Demons exist for chaos," he began.

"What if he followed me?" Alan raised huge, frightened eyes to Scott.

"Then we send him back to hell."

The brothers held eye contact and Alan saw that for once he was being treated as an equal and not being babied. Despite all his complaining on the subject, Alan found he wouldn't have minded a little babying just now. Still, looking into Scott's strong, confident face, Alan lifted his chin and nodded.

Breaking the tension, Scott reached out to ruffle his brother's unruly hair. Much like Virgil's, Alan's hair curled when it reached a certain length and, much like Virgil, Alan had learnt it lent him a certain charm. Alan ducked out from under his hand, swatting at him.

"Let me guess," Scott smiled, "I'm wearing my 'big brother' look."

"Oh, that's not just yours," Alan told him airily, hitching John's borrowed sweatpants back up to his waist. "You all have that one."

Scott supposed there wasn't much of an argument for him there. Each of the boys were protective of each other, and of course it was easier to be overtly protective if those brother's were younger than yourself. Gordon only just got to pull rank, having only one younger sibling.

"Go get dressed. Gordon's gone for food," Scott added, sensing a fight from the youngster. Scott didn't need to be psychic to read his younger brothers, experience had given him a good handle on all of them. True to form, Alan scowled, but obeyed and Scott turned back to John, once more surprised to find himself confronted by open blue eyes, two shades lighter than Alan's and his owns'. Again, Scott successfully hid his expression. Being the oldest meant a reputation in its own right, after all.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Hot. Alan's a freaking radiator," John grumbled.

Scott shrugged, not put out by the third bad mood he'd encountered that morning. A shower, some food, a cup of coffee and last nights ill effects would be cured, he was sure.

"You're the one that wanted cuddles," he teased, instead.

"Alan was scared," John informed him, even though he knew neither of them were buying it.

"Hmm," Scott agreed.

John changed the subject. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You're Captain Next Step. You always have a plan," John pointed out, his mood beginning to balance off.

Scott scowled. "You're beginning to sound awfully like Alan."

"It's your own fault," John replied sweetly. "You brought us up to believe you could do anything. Is it our fault we fell for it?"

"I knew the hero worship would backfire on me one day."

"So, the plan?"

"The plan is breakfast. While we discuss the next step of the plan," Scott told him, glancing at the door. "I wonder where those two have gotten to? They should be back soon."

"They're in the elevator," Alan informed him, emerging from the bathroom in last nights clothing. "I need new clothes," he added, wrinkling his nose as he gingerly picked at his tee shirt. Meeting his brother's bemused and uncomprehending stares, he shrugged a little self-consciously. "I've been wearing the same things since Friday."

"I don't know about John, but I'm more than a little intrigued that you think the boys are in the elevator," Scott told him.

"Oh." Alan paused to consider it, as if he hadn't realised he'd said something strange. "It was just a hunch. I'm probably wrong, they'd be here by-"

He broke off as someone knocked on the door.

"-now."

Scott shot a look at John, who, true to type, shrugged laconically. Scott crossed the room to the door, peeking through the eyehole. He swallowed, opening the door. Both his other brothers were holding takeout bags, smelling strongly of coffee and pastries, Virgil also holding what appeared to be a nearly empty coffee cup of a different make and looking a lot less belligerent.

"Here," he said, handing across his bag. Catching his only big brother's expression, Virgil frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Did you two get the elevator together?"

Gordon and Virgil shared a quick glance. "I know we're supposed to be keeping a low profile, but sharing an empty elevator shouldn't be an automatic exclusion from the Hardy Boys club, Scott."

Scott ignored Gordon's glib remark and turned to stare at Alan.

"Shit," he murmured.

"Language," four voices mimicked happily. Cursing by one of the younger brothers was frowned upon by the eldest, who liked to fool himself occasionally that they were still the sweet children they had been.

"Precog," John added, smiling gently and nodding towards Alan.

Scott hastily shut the door and pulled himself back together. "Shower," he instructed the blond man. "Quickly."

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Gordon felt he should be wearing a trench coat a few shades lighter than the fedora he should also have been wearing. The image of himself as Richard Blaine tickled his sense of humour, and forgetting the reason he had been thinking of skulking in dark corners, he indulged himself in a brief Casablanca fantasy.

"Gordon! For Gods sake, get over here," Scott hissed from inside the sleepy looking hotel the red head was lurking in the doorway of. Gordon chuckled to himself, ducking in after the departing figure of his brother. A striking blond glanced his way as he crossed to the desk and Gordon felt compelled to try out his lines.

"Of all the gin joints in all the world," he smiled.

The woman shot him a confused look, called him a weirdo in a broad Boston accent and hurried up the stairs. Watching her calves disappear, Gordon shook his head.

"Worth a try," he smirked at John. This blond appreciated Gordon's delivery, however, and flashed the slow smile that melted hearts without his knowing.

"Didn't look like the type to sit through the classics," John replied a little wistfully.

"Oooh, classic's night," Gordon grinned. "Gotta be done. This place screams for it."

"Sorry kids, we've more pressing matters," Virgil told them, tossing John a room key attached to a heavy, wooden key fob, one hand resting on Alan's shoulder in deference to the boy's insatiable curiosity. Scott gestured that everyone go on ahead, and John led the way up the stairs. Gordon's eyes scanned the dark banisters for another glimpse of his would-be gin-joint companion, but the four levels were empty save Tracys.

"D'ya think they have roaches?" Alan asked eagerly and his brothers chuckled indulgently as they found their floor.

"As big as couches," Virgil suggested, glancing at the peeling walls. "If we're lucky."

"Don't encourage him," Scott groaned. "We'll wake up to find them sharing our pillows."

"I wouldn't do that," Alan protested, waiting while Scott unlocked one of the rooms.

Scott paused to glance behind him and smiled. "I wasn't talking about you, Sprout."

"What d'ya think would keep them on the pillow?" Gordon wondered casually.

"I saw jewelled cockroaches on gold chains, once."

All heads turned to John.

Virgil found his voice first. "What were you watching?"

"The women holding them." John pushed past his speechless brothers and into the room.

"D'ya think we looked a little weird coming in without luggage?" Virgil wondered vaguely, staring around the room with interest. The others could tell he was obviously composing a piece of music that would suit the room, or storing the details to use in a painting.

"I think I looked quite handsome," Gordon replied. "But you? Easy to label as weird."

"Why don't you bring in the cases?" Scott suggested.

John lifted his head. "Cases?"

"D'ya think breakfast was the only item on my list this morning?" Gordon asked archly. "With Captain Organisation here?"

With that, the red head left the room.

"What is it with you guys and the military titles today?" Scott sighed.

"It's psychological, can't help it," John replied simply.

Scott turned to Virgil, who shrugged. "You're acting like our field commander," he translated.

"Must get it from Dad," Alan agreed. Past the age where he would spontaneously hug his brothers and having never been a clingy child, Scott knew how rattled the boy was when Alan slid against his side, leaning against Scott without wrapping his arms about him. Scott resisted the impulse to pull his littlest brother into an embrace, instead settling for ruffling the soft blond locks.

"Just be glad I don't make you form the line," he said, smiling down at Alan.

"It wouldn't look much like a line with just four of us," Alan pointed out.

"That's right," Virgil agreed, "five is a line, four is just a group."

Scott looked at his brother worriedly. "You're actually serious, aren't you?"

With a small smile, Virgil turned away.

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"It's a dark wall," Alan said. "I can't make everything out on it, like its in shadows, or it's nearly night time."

His brothers sat around the small twin room, perched on various beds and other furniture. Their attention was fixed on the small face and they were silent and unwilling to interrupt. Alan himself was vacant eyed, distant and withdrawn, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

"There's a bit of light that shines on it, though," he continued. "I can see stuff pinned to it, writing, photo's, pages taken from books and printed from a computer. They've got red writing over them, notes and scribbles and some things are ringed as well."

Alan shivered a little, but didn't move to warm himself.

"I can't really read them," he confessed. "Its not very clear, at least the words aren't. But I can see the pictures. A woman, I think, wearing a dress. Or different women, I can't tell. But the really funny thing is, there's a name. It's almost all over the wall, begins with 'J'. I don't really know what it means."

He fell silent, shivering a second time, but didn't speak any more. Realising it was over, Scott tugged his coat off the back of a chair and wrapped it around his brother.

"Hey," he said softly, cupping the boy's face. "You with me, kiddo?"

Alan nodded tiredly. "I'm alright, Scotty."

"You say you tried contacting us?" Virgil asked thoughtfully.

"Everyone except Scott," Alan confirmed.

"Why didn't you return his call?" Scott demanded, lifting his worried gaze from Alan to Virgil. He couldn't understand it. Virgil was his second in command - when Scott wasn't there, Virgil called the shots. The idea of his baby brother leaving a message that Virgil didn't respond to went completely against the grain.

"I didn't know there was a call," Virgil explained, reasonably. "I got this bit of static, but I'd been messing around with a magnetised component we've been working on and it's really not that unusual for it to interfere with cell phones."

Scott frowned. "Dad's number is programmed into your contact book, Virge. How could you not recognise it? Or you two?"

John shrugged guiltily. "My phone was off and staying off. I'd left Dad the hotel number should he need me for anything, but Alan knew I wasn't going to be taking any calls. I haven't checked it since, actually."

"Do it," Scott said crisply, before turning to the second youngest. "Alright Gordon, what's your excuse?"

"Hey, I didn't exactly leave the kid high and dry," the red head protested. "I didn't get a message. Check the inbox if you like. The Sprout must have dialled the wrong number."

"I heard your recording," Alan told him.

Scott's frown deepened. "Show me your phone."

Gordon dug it out of his pocket and handed it over. Before Scott could access the memory, John caught his attention.

"That's just weird. The home line must have gone down or something." He handed his older brother his phone also. "All I'm getting is static too."

"It can't have been my line," Alan grumbled, as Scott listened to John's message box. "I could hear your voice mail, remember?"

Scott handed Virgil John's phone. "Is that the same thing you heard?"

Virgil's left eyebrow rose as he pressed the small object to his ear. "Yeah, that's it all right. If I'd not have been working on that particular project at the time, I'd have taken a closer look, tried to trace the call."

"Trace it?"

"You'll notice the phone's memory didn't recognise the number," Virgil pointed out.

Scott glanced at Gordon's phone. Sure enough, 'Caller Unknown' stared back up at him from the display.

"I thought it was Moose," Gordon said softly when Scott's glance demanded an explanation. "We'd been prank calling all week. It didn't show as Dad's office line, I'd never have ignored it if I'd known, honest Scott."

His oldest brother sighed wearily. "I know, Gordo, I know. All right. Virgil, work on them, see if you can get anything other than the white noise. Something must have jammed them, they can't all go on the blink at the same time. John, try yours and see if you can get through to Alan's school. Tell them we've a family emergency and we're pulling Alan out. He's going to be home schooled, so get his records sent to Dad's office."

Scott stood up to pace and his brothers shared knowing grins. Captain I-Can-Fix-Anything was in control again.

"Gordon, you're going to have to quit WASP. I know its asking a lot and its going to look bad on the record, but this is an emergency and you're AWOL as it is. Sever all ties. Once we've got Dad back, I'm sure we can come up with something convincing to get you back in again. John, once you're finished with Alan's headmaster, contact Gordon's base. You're going to be the Tracy liaison officer for the duration of this little adventure, I'm afraid. Dad's had a very nasty accident and we're not giving out details of our private lives. We're known recluses, it'll have to do until we can think of something better. Then you can call my base and Virgil's project manager. Stick to the same story, keep the facts to the minimum and try and act a little dazed."

"In other words, just be yourself," Gordon smirked, glad it wasn't going to be him that made those calls.

"I'm sure the fire would have made local news days ago," Scott continued, ignoring Gordon. "We can use that to our advantage. Gordon, I want you to get onto contractors, building merchants and gather estimates. To the outside world, the Tracy's are rebuilding. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but for now, the trick is to act as normal as possible. You're going to be our face until this is sorted. You'll have to handle the media, too. Think you can manage it?"

Gordon grinned. He'd always had fun playing with the media since his Olympic days. "Piece of cake," he answered confidently.

Scott paused to frown at him. "Take this seriously, Gordy. We've an image to protect, and an illusion to maintain until Dad's back home. One wrong word from you and some nosy reporters gonna start snooping around and wondering where we've actually disappeared to, why Dad isn't in any hospital and what we're doing. You've got to keep them happy, give them enough to go on but no actual details. Think you can handle that?"

Gordon had lost all trace of humour. "You can count on me, Scott," he promised sincerely. "I won't let you down."

"Good."

Virgil, phone already plugged into John's laptop and systems checking, glanced up at his older brother. "What are you going to be doing, Scotty?"

Scott grimaced. "I'm going to be calling Tracy Industries. The departmental chiefs are going to be frantic, what with both Dad and Ruddy MIA. I'll do what I can to smooth things over and make sure the place is still standing by the time Dad sits back down in that office."

"What are you going to tell them?" Gordon asked, intrigued.

"That depends on what they know already."


	5. Chapter 5

**Little bit of swearing in this chapter, kids! Beware John's potty mouth. And yes, the beginning is difficult to follow, but run with it. I promise it gets better.**

He opened his eyes and the words hanging on the wall faded. He'd seen them before, vague and indistinct, but this time he'd concentrated hard and some had jumped out at him. Something else had jumped out too, something unexpected and frightening. A man wanted to talk to him. More accurately, he wanted to show him.

The images had been violently graphic and he'd been unable to turn away from them, watching in horror as a woman had killed the man, her fingers buried in his chest and his screams echoing aimlessly along synapses. He'd backed away from the car's front seat, as far away as he could in the cramped area of the rear, worried she would come for him next, but she'd been focused on her task and at last, when the man had stopped screaming and lay still, she had turned. She was straddling the man, pinning him down with weight that no longer existed and all the anger in her face had faded as she looked right at him, a mask of unspeakable sorrow.

"I can never go back," she'd whispered slowly and faded from view. He'd stared at the sight of the now lifeless man, five bloodless holes burned in his chest, mouth and eyes open and he'd shuddered. Movement caught his eye and spinning quickly to the window of the driver's door he'd started in fright as the dead man stared down at his own corpse. Raising his eyes, the man stared as he caught his gaze, somehow conveying he was meant to do something about this. What though, he'd not shared.

As if he knew what he was thinking, the man grew angry, and once more he shrank back against the seat, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and finding himself before that wall again.

Jericho … Jericho. JERICHO. Jericho.

The word thundered at him, again and again and he shut his eyes once more, feeling dizzy. Opening them once more, the words hanging on the wall faded and he was in a real room this time, sitting on a bed with his back propped against the headboard. Four men were staring at him in concern.

One, dark haired and blue eyed, moved forward to put his hand on his shoulder.

"You alright, kiddo?"

He nodded, a little dazed, confused as to how he had gotten from the familiar room with the wall to this one. The man turned to glance at the others, worry etched on his features and for a moment, he thought he should be guilty at putting it there.

"John?"

The man wasn't speaking to him anymore, but he'd not removed his hand from his shoulder and although he felt slightly uncomfortable, some deep instinct relished the warmth of the contact. 'John' joined them, staring at him with a direct, open gaze and he couldn't help squirming under it.

"What do you want?" he asked, feeling a bit panicky in his helplessness. "Where am I?"

"He doesn't know who we are," another dark haired man breathed softly. "Scott, he doesn't recognise us."

"All right, don't panic," the first man ordered. He found himself strangely not surprised Scott had taken command, although he was a little sad when that comforting hand was removed. "John, what can you pick up?"

John smiled. "He's reassured by your commanding tone, Scott."

A red headed man snorted indelicately, earning a glare from Scott.

John was speaking directly to him now. "You went searching for the vision, didn't you?"

Yes, that sounded right. He nodded. "How do you know that?"

John sighed. "You were concentrating so hard, you opened up all your psychic channels. That's pretty dangerous, kid, you don't know what you're doing yet. Even I could feel you and it took me a long time to get you back out. Something had a pretty good hold of you."

"The dead man," he agreed softly, feeling bad, guilt stirring in his soul and he found he couldn't look at John anymore.

"What dead man?" Scott's voice held a tight edge of panic. "John?"

"I don't know precisely," John sighed again, sounding tired. "But he had him good and he didn't want to let go until he'd shared everything with him. He was … forceful. Its no wonder he doesn't recognise us."

"You're saying Gordon's theory was correct?" the second man with dark hair asked, nodding towards the red head. "He has amnesia?"

"I'm sure its extremely short term, Virgil," John said patiently. "Already he recognises our reactions, although I'm pretty sure he's a little confused just now. Isn't that right?"

He nodded. Confused was an understatement.

"Can you tell me your name?" Scott asked him.

He thought really hard. Nothing came to him until …

"Jericho?"

The red head, Gordon, let out a hoot of laughter. "Where did that come from?"

"Never mind that for now," John shook his head. He lent into his line of sight. "Concentrate. You know us, you know our names. What's yours?"

He focused again, frowning. The first man, the one who'd put his hand on his shoulder, was Scott. He wasn't sure he'd have guessed it, but it certainly suited him. Scott. No fuss and to the point, much like the man himself. Virgil was the other brunette, a gentler name for a more gentle being, despite his appearance. John was the blond, an old name for an old soul and Gordon sounded like a lot of fun, both in name and personality. There was one more name, one for teasing, for protecting, for picking up and holding tight and that, he was sure, was his. He had a lot of growing to do before he filled it properly, and that put him in mind of yet another name.

"I'm sure it's not Sprout," he mumbled. "I'd really hate that."

Virgil was by his side now, checking his pulse and attempting to shine a small pen light, attached to car keys, in his eyes.

"Virgil, stop it," he protested, comfortable enough to swat his brother's hands. "Brother? Are we brothers?" he asked excitedly, staring up at the burnt honey eyes.

"Do you remember me?" Virgil asked, a warm smile appearing. Virgil placed his hand on the back of his neck, thumb moving in soothing strokes against his pulse. He lent into the touch happily.

"Yeah," he agreed, closing his eyes and almost drowning in the security the contact brought to him. "You do this when you speak to me. All the time. The others like to ruffle my hair, but you always do this. They ruffle my hair cos they're my brothers too, right?" He opened his eyes as memories surfaced. "And you call me Sprout, all of you. Even though I hate it."

"Good, what else?" Virgil's voice was calm, like deep oceans, too warm and low to ever be bothered by the storms that whipped the surface. It was a comfort all in itself.

"You like to mother me, cos it makes you feel needed. Scott's the protector, our hero, but you like to feel wanted too, so you make up for Mom being … oh."

"Don't talk about us," Virgil soothed, pulling him away from that sudden disappointment. "What about you? Who are you?"

"I'm just Alan – hey! I'm Alan!"

It was a heady rush that brought back every memory he'd ever possessed and Alan reeled like a drunk under the onslaught. Virgil's thumb continued to stroke his neck, just beneath his jaw, and Alan relied on the grounding touch as he rode the uncomfortable head rush out.

"Breathe, Allie," Virgil soothed. "Out through your nose, nice and slow. That's it, kiddo."

Once he could open his eyes without seeing stars, Alan glanced sheepishly at Virgil.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Virgil smiled softly. "It's what I do, remember? I like to 'mother' you."

"And I like to protect you," Scott growled, the fright giving way to anger. "So I'm going to tell you that if you pull a stunt like that again, I'll have you doing every nasty chore I can think of 'til you're thirty. Understood?"

Alan nodded as Virgil went back to the laptop. "I'm sorry, Scotty. I just wanted to help."

"Help?"

"The wall," John realised. "You were looking at the wall when he found you."

"Right," Alan agreed. "I thought if I could read the stuff up there, it'd help."

"You shouldn't open yourself up like that," John cautioned the boy. "You're leaving yourself open to all sorts of things."

Alan shivered, remembering. "I know."

John sat next to Alan. "He really scared ya, huh?"

Scott's anger faded as Alan nodded. The kid was right, he did like to protect his brothers, but this wasn't something tangible, at least, not to him. This wasn't something he could scare away, not like the 'monsters' that had hidden under Gordon's bed or the bully's that had taunted a painfully shy John. This wasn't something he understood, like his father's need to surround himself with his wife's belongings in the hopes of rediscovering the happy memories she had placed within them, or the way Virgil found he could only express his mother's love through a piano.

This wasn't pain he could protect Alan from and it wasn't something he understood enough to help him through it. However, he did have access to this phenomena through John, and with one glance Scott indicated Gordon take the blonde's place and John join him for a quiet conversation. Psychic powers be damned, Scott Tracy managed just fine with his own brand of brother-hoodo.

Immediately, Gordon sought to simultaneously lighten the mood and cover John and Scott's discussion. He dropped next to Alan, making the bed squeal and bounce and Virgil glance up from where he was frowning over the phones.

"I liked the bit where you said Scott was a hero," Gordon grinned wickedly. "I don't think I've ever seen him blush so much before. And I adored you telling Virgil he was like a mother to you. But my absolute favourite was when you thought your name was 'Jericho'."

Alan sniggered in spite of himself. "It was the only thing I could think of."

"It's a decidedly weird thing to think of, Sprout," Gordon proclaimed. "Whatever happened to 'Bill'? Or 'Stuart'?"

Alan lowered his voice so Scott wouldn't hear him. He didn't want to risk upsetting him again. "It was the one word that stood out when I was in the vision. It's never done it before, but that time, I could read it."

Gordon sobered. "I don't think that's a valid excuse to experiment again, kiddo," he said quietly, and Alan saw the worry in his hazel eyes.

"It was all over the wall, Gordy," he replied quickly, keen to avoid another lecture. "I don't know why I couldn't see it before and I couldn't read anything else. I think it might be important."

Gordon sighed heavily. "So do I," he agreed. "But promise me you won't do that again. Pinky swear."

With a roll of his eyes and a brief pause to question if Gordon really could be as old as nineteen and yet as immature as a ten year old, Alan complied.

"I won't go looking for the vision," he vowed.

"The vision?" Gordon repeated, pulling back his little finger from Alan's. "Any vision, kid."

"Any vision," Alan grumbled, peeved Gordon had seen through his wording.

As they shook, Gordon grinned. "Can't kid a kidder, little brother."

John ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's really not the same thing, Scott," he protested. "I almost didn't find him - he's on an entirely different plane altogether. I can read thoughts – quietly if its one person and after a hell of a lot of concentration, indistinctly if it's a crowd. It's all jumbled together and it gives me a headache to the point of vomiting if I try to sort them all out."

Scott winced, knowing he was the cause of his brother's discomfort. John wasn't finished, though.

"Alan's thoughts weren't there. At all. There was an echo of his previous thoughts, and I _stumbled_ across it. Scott, I was like a blind man with his fucking hands tied behind him. I literally tripped over the kid and I was damn lucky."

Scott opened the door with his mind as he physically removed his deteriorating brother out into the hall. Gordon had once remarked John was like the anti-Kent. Mild mannered space geek by night, bad-tempered foul mouth by day.

"I had to follow his thoughts to him and he was so far removed from this plane of existence, I was travelling bloody _light_ years. The distance was …" John slumped miserably against the wall, shutting his eyes. "Scott, he didn't even know I was there. I was an outsider in that place and no-one, nothing looked at me. Not even Alan."

Scott's concern grew. "What are you saying?"

As far as he was concerned, John could read minds. He was convinced Alan had a mind. The two should be easy to connect, but apparently, it didn't work that way.

"I'm saying," John ground out, his eyes still tightly squeezed shut, "that I didn't bring Alan back. I couldn't. I can't see or speak to the dead like he can, and he had to come close to being one of them to do that. He came out of it himself, whether by design or fault, I don't know."

"Shit."

"Fucking shit," John agreed.

"Stop that. You mentioned a dead guy?"

John shrugged one shoulder. "Educated guess. Allie was thinking about a wall, I could get that far, the rest is pure speculation. Alan's a medium, dead people like mediums. He was wide open to them – I could feel him calling to my fucking _soul_, Scott. Jesus, you're supposed to be intelligent! Why am I having to spell this out for you?"

"Alright," Scott said with practised authority. It had been some time since the brothers had actively used their talents and twice in as many days was obviously a strain on John. "That's enough. Get to bed."

"Not a problem," John snapped, shielding his eyes from his brother. "I can't stand the fucking sight of you."

Scott paused from opening the other room with his mind and John gasped.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that! The light …" John gave a strangled sob and Scott quickly moved in, wrapping one of John's arms around his shoulders as he took on most of his brother's weight.

"It's alright," he promised. "I understand."

John groaned. "I can't deal –"

"Yes you can," Scott interrupted him, mentally wishing he had John's talents and could summon Virgil from the other room with a thought. He instead placed as much conviction in his voice as he could, as if his belief in his brother was all it would take for John to feel better.

John's mood swung again. "For Gods sake, I'm not a puppet! I'm not under your spell, I won't dance for you."

Scott took a deep breath. As much as he loved his brothers, it was hard to keep his temper in check when they became irrational. Irrational wasn't something the controlled Scott could empathise with. But he had played this game before and he drew on that experience.

"I'm not asking you to, John," he managed with appropriate cool. "But you're hurting and you need to sleep."

As they reached the closest bed, Scott saw Virgil enter the room. The second Tracy boy gestured in a 'go on' movement and Scott realised what he meant. Turning his attention back to John, who now lay with his arm flung over his eyes, Scott reached out and did his big brother thing.

"I'll be right here once you're feeling better, Johnny. If you wanna talk, I'll be here. If you wanna throw things, I can duck. Whatever you need, man."

"Thanks." John's voice was quiet, embarrassed and on the verge of sleep.

"No problem." Scott ran a hand lightly through his brother's hair. "One of us has to bring the Y chromosome."

"You're calling me a girl."

"I am."

"Mr I'm-Here-If-You-Need-To-Talk?"

"Sleep tight, Johnny."

Scott slipped out of the room, closing the door with a thought as he faced Virgil in the hall.

"Ouch," the other man smiled. "Demoted."

"What?"

"Doesn't sound like you're a Captain anymore."

Scott sighed. "What are you doing here, Virgil? You realise those two are alone in there? Unsupervised?"

"It's okay. Gordon promised to only burn holes in the part of carpet you wouldn't want to stand on anyway and Alan's fine climbing the wardrobe."

"Funny. What do you want?"

Virgil pretended to think. "Well, you could be the straight guy for my comedy."

"Gordon's rubbing off on you."

"That's a surprisingly disturbing thought," Virgil admitted. Coming to the point, finally, he sobered. "The brats have hatched a plan, big brother. You're not going to like it."

"Doesn't surprise me. What is it?"

Virgil shook his head. "I'm not going to steal their thunder – or take the punishment. They can tell you themselves. It involves Allie's wall, that's all I'm going to say. Could have to move on shortly."

Scott nodded. "We weren't really going to making our home here, Virge."

"Shame. Alan's named the roaches."

Scott ignored him. While Gordon was the prankster and wit of the family, Virgil had his own brand of humour and it offset his deep sensitivity nicely. "You up to a side trip?"

"Where?"

"The vault."

Virgil immediately knew where Scott was going, but thought at the logic from another angle. "Alright, I can appreciate we'd need those things if Dad's in trouble. But what makes you think Dad didn't think of that already?"

"I think he probably did," Scott answered. "But he wouldn't have left us unprotected."

Virgil didn't need to reply and he didn't need to be asked. He simply ducked back into the room, promised horrible things would happen if the boys woke John or misbehaved and grabbed his and Scott's jackets.

Scott smiled from the doorway, watching his wingman in action. "I'm counting on you, Gordon," was all he said before he and Virgil left.

"I hate it when he does that," the red head grumbled.

Alan glanced across from his position by the window. "No you don't, Gordon."

At his brother's questioning, defiant look, Alan smiled softly, turning back to the window and watching as his oldest brothers were swallowed into the world.

"You can't kid a kidder."

Gordon snorted, but looked at Alan's profile with interest. The kid was learning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks again to all those who've reviewed! I'll try to get round to thanking you individually asap, but I wanted you all to know how much I appreciate your kind words.**

**Enjoy!**

With nothing else to occupy their time and the television offering little of interest, Gordon and Alan pilfered John's laptop and did a bit of researching. Jericho, it turned out, was a small town in California where unmarried men had a strange habit of going missing.

Intrigued by this new development, the boys researched further. Over the past eighteen years, three of the missing five men had been discovered in unlikely areas surrounding Jericho, apparently on their way out of town. All five cars had been recovered elsewhere along the stretch of road, abandoned and in perfect working condition. The latest in the pattern was Troy Squire, nineteen years old and with everything to live for. As yet, Troy was listed as a missing person, his body not discovered.

"Weird," Alan muttered.

"I'll say," Gordon agreed. "No town that small can have failed to notice its inhabitants disappearing."

"No, I mean it's strange that the man from my vision isn't there. I thought he might have been connected with Jericho. What does it say they died from?"

"Oooh, morbidity!" Gordon teased. "Should I be worried?"

"Only by your IQ level."

"Right, and you're a genius?"

"I can look if you're scared." Alan almost bounced with gruesome curiosity.

Gordon shook his head. "Not a chance, Sprout, Scott'll kill me. Besides, this isn't a tv show, these are real people and they've got family grieving over them. Let's handle this with a bit of sensitivity, eh?"

Alan stared at him wide eyed. "Wow," he breathed. "You really channelled Dad then."

Ducking away from the awkward moment, Gordon went back to the computer screen.

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Thinking Alan had had enough time in the spotlight, Gordon had nominated himself to tell Scott he thought they should go to Jericho. He'd quickly, and with the minimal of facts, explained where the idea had come from and what it meant.

"Who knows," he'd closed his argument with. "Dad could be there."

Scott hadn't replied for a long time, but stared at Alan. If the kid felt the stare, and Gordon was surprised his shoulders weren't buckling under the weight, he did a damn good impression of not being bothered. Scott's mouth was in a tight line, his eyes diamond hard when he nodded. It was all the confirmation that Gordon would get that his message had been received and understood and the red head had to almost hold his own hand down to resist snapping off a salute. Scott had called his brother's attention and told them their destination.

"It's the only lead we've got," he'd ended his command with.

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Pulling into Jericho, the boys looked around with interest. Ahead lay the bridge, the most common route out of town and the beginning of the road that had been the last journey five men had made. Police tape had been strung across the entrance, several men in local sheriff department uniforms milling about a badly parked car.

"Let's check it out," Scott suggested, even as Virgil swung the wheel of the SUV they had bought back in Boston, much to Gordon's disgust.

"It's like the A-Team," Scott had tried, aiming to appeal to the young red head's taste.

"They had a van! Besides, there were four in the A-Team," Gordon groused. "There's five of us."

"Yeah," Alan had chirped unhelpfully. "We're more like Scooby Doo."

A worried silence followed his words, until John voiced their fears. "Who's Daphne?"

The brothers glanced at one another. Scott cleared his throat. "How's those ID's coming on, John?"

They had turned out great and Scott flipped the glove compartment open now to retrieve them. He handed one to Virgil.

"How's your fed?"

Virgil sighed. "Was it really necessary to make us Marshall's?" Without waiting for a reply, he got out the car.

Scott tossed another card to John. "Go with him. Gordon, we need a lookout."

"On it."

John lifted his hand in farewell as he left also, sauntering casually after his older brother, who'd just reached the police barrier. Cool as a breeze, Virgil flashed his badge in the direction of the young officer stationed there, not bothering to even look at the man, his eyes taking in the details of the car even as he lifted the tape and ducked under.

Obviously, Virgil was going to be bad cop.

John had to work to hide his smile. Wrenching an appropriately serious expression onto his face, he too showed the officer his ID, letting the man see it for a few seconds longer than Virgil had, confident his handiwork would pass the test.

"Don't mind him," he told the officer, nodding after Virgil. "New. Very keen."

John left the man smiling and made his way towards his brother. He could hear Virgil speaking.

"You fella's had another one just like this, didn't ya?"

One of the men, the Sheriff, turned to stare at him. "Who are you?"

"Federal Marshall's." Once more Virgil shoved his wallet forwards, snapping it back and letting his eyes travel to the car again, apparently indifferent to the Sheriff and his men.

"They keep getting younger," the Sheriff muttered.

"You did have another one, right?" Virgil asked, steering the conversation back again.

"Yeah, about a mile from here," the Sheriff's deputy agreed. "What are you boys doing here? You're thinking serial killer?"

Virgil snorted. "You're not?"

"You knew the victim?" John pressed, before the Sheriff could object to Virgil.

"In a town like this, everyone knows everyone."

"Any ideas why a perfectly healthy nineteen year old would take off in the middle in of the night, abandon his car and disappear?"

"We're not sure. Kidnapping ring?"

"Hmm," Virgil didn't sound convinced. He moved off, circling the car and John let him go alone. If there was something about the car, some small bit of information they'd need, Virgil would find it.

"Nothing else you can tell us?" he asked, drawing the officer's attention away from his brother.

"There's never been any ransom, and we didn't find the last guy," the deputy admitted. "The ones that we did recover, didn't have a mark on them."

"Except the holes," the Sheriff added. "Cause of death only. No restraints used, no beatings or torture."

"Doesn't sound like a particularly profitable kidnapping ring," John smiled. "If they didn't want the men for ransom, or for illegal fights. You don't find many slavers that deal solely with men, either. Are there any similarities, asides from the victims all being male?"

"None that we can find."

Virgil rolled his eyes behind the offer's backs, before stepping next to John. With a jerk of his head, and keeping his 'persona' in tact, Virgil indicated they were done.

"Thanks for your time," John smiled, following his brother.

"There's nothing wrong with that car," Virgil muttered.

They nodded politely as men wearing suits strode importantly towards the tape. The men eyed them warily, unsure of their rank of office.

"Agents," Virgil nodded, walking swiftly past.

"Anything we can help you with, boys?"

"Just leaving," John promised, noticing the SUV had gone. He saw Gordon appear out of the corner of his eye, point and disappear again.

Out of earshot, Virgil sighed. "Fancy a walk into town?"

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When Gordon had appeared inside the SUV with a breathless "Feds!", Scott, now positioned in the drivers seat, had started the engine and driven his brothers away. He stopped down the road, waiting for Virgil and John to catch up. He had worried that they would be caught by the FBI, but declined Gordon's offer of going back to 'spring' them. Instead, they'd waited, until Gordon's fidgeting had gotten on his nerves.

"Alright," Scott sighed. "Go take a look. No hanging around and be careful not to be seen."

"Gotcha." Gordon snapped out of existence.

"That's kinda freaky," Alan commented. "It'd be easier to handle if there was a noise, a pop or something."

"It'd be nice if anything Gordon does came with a warning," Scott answered dryly.

Gordon was back then, looking as if he'd never moved. "They're on their way," he reported.

Not long after, Virgil slid into the front passenger seat. "Must have been an outside source that made the driver stop," he said, without preamble. "Skids suggest he braked hard while the engine was flat out."

"What about the door?" Scott asked, starting the engine again and easing them onto the road.

"Wasn't forced, opened from the inside is my guess."

"The driver?" Gordon suggested.

"Maybe," Virgil shrugged. "I'm not exactly trained as a CSI."

"The motel's just round the corner," Alan interrupted, even though no signs graced the road. But just as he'd predicted, a small, squat building appeared from behind the bend and Alan nodded. "That's the one with the wall."

Scott was about to question his littlest brother, but glancing in the rear view mirror, he decided against it. Something about the calm, sure way Alan appeared made the decision for him. Wordlessly, he drove into the parking lot.

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While Scott booked a couple of rooms and made small talk with the owner about a 'family get together' Gordon had a look around the motel. He met his brothers by the car, looking pale and a little worried.

"What rooms are we?" he asked, his nervous gaze resting on Alan briefly before returning to scan Scott's face.

"11 and 14. What's wrong?"

"I think Dad was here," Gordon explained. Without another word, he turned away, leading them across the poorly lit parking lot. Pressing his hand to the door of room 17, he disappeared. They could hear chains dropping and bolts sliding and when the door swung open, Gordon's pale face shone at them.

Virgil, who had been acting as rearguard, scanning the area for anyone who might see them, was yanked off his feet when Scott grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him into the room. Stumbling, Virgil felt his knees go weak when he caught the sight before him.

Alan's wall, it turned out, was actually Dad's wall. They all recognised the handwriting, the meticulous attention to detail, and the system he used when pinning together his information. The Tracy brothers stared at it in silence for several moments.

"Dude," Gordon breathed, breaking the tension. "No wonder you couldn't read it, Sprout."

Their fathers writing wasn't necessarily untidy, but he'd written over other notes, scribbled out or circled words in printouts and appeared to have written his thoughts on any available paper, regardless of whether it was pertinent to the printed information.

John busied himself scanning the words, running his finger along the wall, apparently able to follow his Dad's patternless research. Gordon wandered to one end, drawn by photo's, some of live, smiling men, others of corpses. Scott turned Alan away quickly, steering him towards Virgil and the rest of the wall.

"I'm, going to check outside," Scott said softly. "Maybe Dad left something for us."

"I'll search the room," Virgil agreed, taking Alan's shoulder in an unmistakable gesture of 'and I'll keep Alan away from the nasty stuff'.

"Hey," Gordon called. "He's stuck a woman up here too. That's not our spirit's M.O."

"Must have had a special connection to her," Virgil suggested. "That can cause a change in pattern."

He nudged Alan in the direction of the nightstand as Scott left.

"She's been dead a long time," Gordon continued. "Before the others. Drowned. Might have been the one to start it all."

They were silent as they continued their tasks. Dad, as neat as ever apart from the wall, hadn't left much sign that he'd been there. Even the threadbare towel had been placed neatly in the loop after use. Alan, bored, was drawn back to the wall as Virgil discovered a half eaten burger. Joining his youngest brother in an effort to moderate what he was viewing, Virgil offered his opinion.

"It's safe to assume Dad left in a hurry."

"There's the bridge," Alan pointed out as Gordon joined them.

"It does seem to feature all through this, doesn't it?" he asked.

Alan let his eyes wander. Here and there he saw 'Jericho' within the newsprint, but his attention caught on a page torn from what looked to be an old book. There was a highlighted paragraph describing a murderess in a white gown, at least that's what Alan interpreted the words as. It had been written centuries ago, and the phrases and spellings made little sense to the twelve year old, long and rambling, sentences that knew no end. Alan was about to alert John's attention to it, if nothing else he'd no doubt love the style, when Virgil's phone rang.

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"Dude, five-oh," Scott hissed into his mobile, before snapping the device shut and slipping it into a hidden pocket in his jacket. And Gordon called him paranoid.

Spinning, Scott assumed his most pleasant 'can-I-help-you?' expression and greeted the Sheriff as he moved away from the obviously worried owner of the motel.

"Evening." The man, large and casual, ambled towards him with practised ease. His eyes, however, gave him away, hard and suspicious.

"Officer," Scott nodded, cool military persona coming to the fore, worried older brother firmly tucked away.

"You arrived today?" Not waiting for an answer, the Sheriff glanced at the shiny SUV sparkling in the lot. "That your car?"

Scott managed to look surprised. "No, sir," he replied. There was an awkward pause as another guest of the motel climbed into a dusty pick-up, the only other vehicle in the vicinity. Scott glanced at the Sheriff. "It's a rental."

The Sheriff smiled. "Some men came by this afternoon," he said. "Caused a bit of a stir among my boys. Claimed to be Federal Marshall's."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "They weren't?"

"They were not. Men matching their descriptions checked into this motel. They had a companion matching your description with them."

Scott returned his smile. "I'm sure there are many men matching my description, officer."

"I'm sure there are," the Sheriff agreed amiably. "But we don't get many coming through here and we don't get any breaking and entering."

Without warning, the Sheriff spun Scott around, pushed him against the wall and cuffed him.

"Tell me, son," he drawled. "Is anything you've told me true?"

Scott smiled. "It really is a rental."

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Virgil snapped his phone shut. "Out the back. Everyone."

"I'll catch you up," John told him, as Virgil jimmied open the window. "I need to take care of some of this stuff."

"They'll catch you at it," Virgil protested, linking his fingers together so Alan could step in them. Virgil hoisted the boy towards the window and he scrambled out, dropping down lightly on the other side.

John locked his ice blue eyes on his brother. "We could be handing them Dad on a plate."

"Be quick," Virgil ordered. "Come on, Gordy."

Once out of the room, Alan pointed towards the wall. "There's no door."

Virgil leapt at the wall, scrambling for hand and foot holds and swinging himself onto the top. Straddling the thick blocks, he turned to reach down for Alan, but Gordon waved him on.

"I've got him," he said, wrapping his arms around the boy and vanishing.

Virgil jumped down, landing in a crouch from which he sprang up to race towards his brothers. Alan was backing away from the copper haired Tracy, shaking his head wildly. Virgil skidded to a halt before him, kneeling to match his level.

Alan was taking breaths in, three huge gasps, but not exhaling, his small hands thrashing wildly in the air, trying to fend Virgil off.

Virgil cupped Alan's face in both his hands. "It's alright, Allie. You're safe, it's me, just breathe. It's alright."

Alan choked, expelled the air held tight in his lungs and almost collapsed against Virgil.

"It's okay, little brother," Virgil promised, stroking his thumb against the wildly fluttering pulse in Alan's neck. "It's alright. You're safe."

"Virge!" Gordon hissed from nearby, worried by Alan's reaction and the fact he could see Scott being handcuffed. "Keep moving! I'll get John."

Virgil didn't have time to answer, Gordon blinking out of sight before he could open his mouth. Standing, Virgil lifted Alan in his arms, the boy limp and unresisting, arms twining around his older brother's neck and face buried in his shoulder. John and Gordon appeared suddenly, Gordon announcing he was going to get himself arrested too.

"What?" John argued.

"No, he's right," Virgil agreed, shifting Alan and surprising both his other brothers. "Scott may need someone to help him get out. Be careful Gordon."

"You'd better move too," the red head replied, for once deadly serious. "They're coming this way."

Virgil nodded and Gordon was gone again. In the distance, they could hear him demanding to know what they were doing to his brother. Virgil caught John's eye.

"Split up," he instructed. "Double back to rendezvous in three hours."

"Take care," John whispered, before turning and sprinting up the street. Virgil spun in the other direction, Alan silent and shivering in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks once again to those lovely reviewers, and also to the kind people still reading this! As always, i own nothing.**

The book landed with a dull thump on the table. Scott stared at it, trying not to react. He hadn't seen it for many years, in fact, he'd believed it destroyed, a reminder of the evil that had taken his mother and therefore banished, along with everything else from his Dad's hunter past.

"There's a lot of shit in there," the Sheriff said, watching the young man carefully. "Demonic crap. You worship Satan, son?"

Scott balked at that. "No, sir," he replied. "I've never seen this before."

The Sheriff flicked through several pages, allowing Scott to see them. Diagrams, pictures and ancient lore slowly filtered through Scott's mind. As a teen, he'd watched his father fill those pages, make those entries. The Sheriff stopped on a marked page.

"Scott. 35-111."

"Guessing that's you. Wanna know what I think? I think you're deep into this shit. I think you're responsible for a lot of missing men."

The Sheriff tossed a list of names and dates before Scott. Frowning, he read them and glanced up.

"Five missing men over eighteen years. Anything you want to tell me?"

Scott snorted. "This makes less sense by the minute. Since I was nine when the first one went missing."

"We know there's an older guy. It's how these things work. Strange thing is, he's gone missing too." The Sheriff lent forward, getting into Scott's face. "Got a theory on that as well. I think you got bored of following his orders and I think you got rid of him."

"You've obviously been thinking very hard."

"Don't try my patience, Scott," the Sheriff snarled.

Scott simply smirked as an alarm sounded. The Sheriff cuffed him quickly to the chair.

"Don't move!"

"I'll make myself at home," Scott assured him.

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Gordon had had enough. He'd gotten over the tiny room surprisingly fast, he'd tired of the weak, over filtered coffee within the first three sips and of the officer facing him, he'd bored of him swiftly. But the thing that really tested his admittedly low patience was the line of questioning.

"I know what it's like," Officer Kelly said, assembling his craggy features in an approximation of empathy. Gordon stared. It was like watching an avalanche attempt to emote. "I mean it's family. You've an obligation to them."

Gordon sighed. Saying Scott was his brother was a guaranteed way into the station with him, but it had it's own drawbacks.

"But it only extends so far. You think he's in there now, pleading your innocence?"

Probably, Gordon thought privately.

"Not a chance." Officer Kelly leaned forward. "You've your whole life ahead of you, kid. Don't let him drag you down with him."

Gordon was silent, mentally going through the checklist of the last sub he had been positioned on.

"He's older, naturally more dominant," Officer Kelly continued. "Threatens you too, I'd imagine."

He waited for Gordon's reaction and when it didn't happen, Gordon had to admire the officer's tenacity.

"He's clever, I'll warrant. Groomed you, right? Him and that other guy. That's gonna work in your favour, son. Jury'll be sympathetic. But here's the kicker. Tell us what we want to know and I don't see you going into the slammer."

Gordon couldn't help the eye roll, it was over before he could stop it. An hour and a half of similar such offers was a boredom the like of which he'd never imagined existed. The officer waited. So did Gordon. Five full minutes passed in silence. Gordon took a small sip from his Styrofoam cup.

Officer Kelly looked almost relieved when the alarm sounded. He sprang to his feet, asked if Gordon needed to go and once assured he didn't, bolted from the room. Gordon waited several minutes, experimentally taking another sip of his coffee to see if it really was as bad as he remembered. It was. Swallowing the tepid mouthful, Gordon rose to his feet and disappeared.

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Virgil thought he'd done well, all things considered. As small as he was, Alan was no longer the tiny child he'd been able to hoist onto his shoulders and holding him in his arms made running with his added weight all the more difficult. Still, Virgil had been built along the lines of muscle and stamina, and he'd travelled quite a distance by the time he slowed and allowed his brother to slide bonelessly to his feet.

Alan was reluctant to let go, immediately pressing himself into his brother once more, unwilling to face the world around them. Virgil, panting, glanced around. It was quiet, there were no cars passing down the side street he'd brought them to and he needed to get to the bottom of Alan's mysterious reaction to Gordon's talent. He'd have to make time for it, there was no way he could allow this silent suffering to continue.

"Allie?" he called softly, taking his brother by the chin and lifting the boy's face. Wide, fearful eyes, almost luminescent with terror, gazed back at him. Virgil, already worried, felt his stomach churn. "What is it?"

Alan shook his head, arms once more reaching for Virgil.

"Hey," the older brother soothed. "Talk to me."

Face pressed into Virgil's chest, Alan whispered fiercely, "Don't make me do that again."

Virgil stroked his brother's back as Alan trembled. He found the experience unnerving and a little uncomfortable stomach wise himself, but he'd never seen any one of the other boys react as Alan had. Deathly pale, terrified, Alan was on the verge of crying. It was small comfort, but at least he seemed to have come out of his nearly catatonic state.

"What happened?" Virgil asked, pressing a warm kiss into his brother's hair.

"I don't know," Alan sniffed miserably. "It took forever and I couldn't see Gordon."

Virgil's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? Allie?"

Alan raised his head to meet his brother's concerned eyes.

"There were all these ghosts, Virgil," he said softly. "Like I'd gone out of the world for a while and stepped into another vision. They kept touching me and every time they did, I saw stuff. Them. What they did and what happened to 'em."

Tears were running down the boy's cheeks now, silver tracks shining in the night. "They wouldn't leave me alone, I couldn't breathe. There were so many and I didn't know what to do."

Virgil gently wiped the tears with his thumbs, cupping Alan's face between his hands. "Shh, honey," he soothed. "Calm down, I've got you."

Alan made a valiant effort to do so, calming his stuttered breaths and allowing the fear to leave him.

"You forgot who you were, didn't you?" Virgil asked softly.

Alan nodded. "There were so many of them," he repeated. "All angry and fighting with each other. Except that woman."

Virgil paused in running slow circles against Alan's pulse. "What woman?"

Alan shrugged, closing his eyes tiredly. "Just a woman."

"Are you sure?" Virgil pressed. "Think hard, Sprout. She wouldn't be there unless she had a reason."

Alan concentrated. "I might have seen her somewhere before," he murmured. "She wore a white dress, like the lady on Dad's wall."

Virgil filed the information. "Alright, what about when that spirit got to you in Boston?" he asked. "What did you see then?"

Alan shook his head. "I remember the wall. I did remember something else, but when I remembered you guys, I forgot it again."

Virgil sighed. "You don't recall what these spirits are showing you?"

Alan shook his head sadly. "Not everything."

"It's probably a good thing," Virgil assured him hurriedly.

"I keep thinking that if I could remember it all, it'd really help," Alan said earnestly.

Virgil suppressed a shiver. "You heard what Scott said," he warned. He eyed the boy critically. Alan's colour was coming back, he was certainly more lively and a persistant tickle between Virgils shoulder blades told him they'd stayed still too long. "Come on, we'd better get moving again."

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John had always found his brain moved faster than he did. As he left Virgil and Alan, he was already going through possible triggers, alarms and security networks and by the time he'd stumbled across the station, he was confident in what he wanted to do.

Forty-five minutes later, the alarm ringing in his ears, John wasn't hanging around to see if his brothers got out. He could hear their relief, both of them attaching his name and face to the emotion and he knew they would do the rest. Although his body, weary from the long run and the tension, demanded he rest, John was heading back to the motel as fast as he could.

He still had an hour before Virgil's deadline and he wanted to makle full use of it. Hot-wiring the car – and if any of his brothers knew about that little talent, he wouldn't live it down – John drove to the edge of town.

Action, he felt, was good. It meant he had little time to worry over the state he'd left his youngest brother in.

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Scott promised himself he was going to take John out for the biggest steak he could find. He doubted the sudden emergency created solely within the Sheriff's departments system could actually be real. His brother's talent with computers was legendary.

Taking his time, Scott focused on the delicate mechanism of the handcuffs. Concentrating hard, he lifted and pressed levers until he hit the right combination to open the lock. It was more complicated than he'd imagined, having to move several, albeit tiny, components together. Wiping his face, Scott tugged his wrist out of the metal and stood. He tried the door, unsurprised but unable to hold back the sigh when he found it was locked also. The room was spinning lazily by the time Scott let himself into the corridor.

He made his way silently through the station, amazed it was nearly deserted. Here and there he saw members of staff dutifully typing at their desks, and assumed the only reason he'd not been noticed was because John had worked the camera into the questioning room onto a loop.

Scott found the filing room with a sense of relief. He knew Gordon was in here too, but he had decided that the boy would be safer staying where he was until Scott was finished. With this in mind, he nearly gave the game away with a strangled yell of surprise when he found his copper haired brother waving a burger at him with one hand and files with the other.

"What the hell are you doing?" Scott hissed furiously.

"The same thing you are," Gordon smirked. "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I almost became one," Scott scowled. "What have you got there?"

Gordon opened his mouth, displaying it's half chewed contents. "Burger."

"In your hand, Gordy."

Gordon swallowed his mouthful. "Files on all the men Dad had pinned up and ones that've gone missing but weren't connected. I'm making copies, they can't accuse us of stealing them."

Scott nodded his approval, moving round his brother to the cabinet. He swiftly found what he was looking for. "What was the name of the woman?"

"Raquel Welch. Why?"

"Just a hunch. Dad had her there for a reason. Here, copy this."

Gordon did as he was asked, while Scott kept watch on the door. "Where'd you get the burger anyway?"

"Followed my nose, swiped it off a desk," Gordon shrugged. Scott glanced at him, disapproving. "I needed it, Scott. I was getting pretty shaky there."

Scott looked closer at his younger brother. The nineteen year old had always been on the pale side, but there were blue circles beneath his eyes and his movements were a little jerky.

"They swiped my candy," he said, apologetically. "I'll get some more once we're through here."

"I can get us out," Gordon assured him, finishing the burger. Scott nodded, saying nothing, although he wasn't thrilled with the idea.

"Done?" he asked instead.

Gordon replaced the documents where he'd found them and scooped up their copies. "All done," he agreed. "Ready to fly the coop?"

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Virgil wasn't a pacer. Neither was John. While Gordon would have been climbing the walls by now, and Scott would have been checking his watch with a frown, Virgil and John were content to lean against the wall and wait for their brother's to arrive. Alan, sat at their feet with Virgil's jacket on, stared into the middle distance, quiet and thoughtful. Eventually, Virgil's phone rang. Exchanging a smile with John, Virgil answered it.

"They give you time off for good behaviour?"

"No," Scott answered. "I paid them off with your share of the inheritance."

Virgil chuckled, sobering when his gaze landed on the small, silent figure before him. "Where are you?" he asked. "We need to talk."

Fifteen minutes later, Virgil pulled into the lay-by where Scott had called. Gordon laughed out loud when he saw the state of the car.

"What did you do?" he asked, gesturing to the paintwork with a candy bar. The wrappers of its brothers and sisters lay scattered on the table in front of him, a testament to his appetite.

"John distressed it," Virgil said shortly and Gordon laughed again.

"I'll say. Did you try telling it a joke, John? That'd distress anyone."

Virgil reached forward and plucked the last bar from his brother's hand. "You gave him too much, Scott," he chided softly. "He's got the giggles."

Scott shrugged. "Better the giggles than the shakes."

"If he's sick, you're cleaning him up."

"Dude, I'm right here!" Gordon protested. "And I'm not a six year old."

John nudged Alan forward. "Lets get in out of the cold," he suggested, rubbing the kids shoulders.

Virgil liked to drive. It helped him relax, it helped him think and so when he slipped into the drivers seat again, none of his brothers thought to argue. By right of birth, Scott took the front passenger, and Alan was placed securely between John and Gordon. Virgil stated the engine, and with it the conversation.

"John changed the licence plates," he began, "when he worked over the bodypaint. We should have a few hours before we're looked at too closely."

"Good," Scott smiled, knowing how much Virgil hated the new look SUV. Virgil could be a perfectionist at times. The second Tracy son changed the subject. He told his brothers what Alan had told him, about the way he stepped out of the world when Gordon had translocated him and about what he could remember of all the visions so far.

"This woman Dad found," he said slowly.

"Raquel Welch," Gordon supplied.

"We're looking at her wrong. We've been assuming she's a victim."

John raised his eyebrows. "She's not?"

"I doubt it," Virgil replied. "Allie thinks he's seen her before, and I suspect its from a vision. The picture on the wall probably jogged the memory. Alan also noticed a passage on the wall, depicting a woman committing murder."

"Raquel's the one doing this?" Scott asked, flipping quickly through her file. "Listen to this. She didn't just drown, she committed suicide."

"She jumped from the bridge," Alan murmured. "I watched her fall, we all did. Or do ... I think."

Scott took a moment to process what Alan had said. "We watch her go to her death?" he turned to Virgil. "She's re-enacting it."

Gordon, meanwhile, was glancing through the file he had bought with him. Alan peered over his shoulder, starting to come back round into himself again. "What's that?"

"It's a file on more missing persons," Gordon replied absently. "They haven't been declared dead yet, or attached to any case."

"Hey!" Alan almost shouted. "That's the guy who got me at the wall!"

"Jeremy Allain," Gordon read. "Missing as of three months ago, car never found, listed as missing person only, presumed alive. He was never attached to the serial killer theory."

John stared at the picture Gordon now held up. "He must be a powerful spirit to have travelled to Boston."

"I wasn't in Boston," Alan told him, taking the picture from Gordon and missing the glances his brothers exchanged over his head. "I was here, in Jericho, at the wall."

"You're remembering it better?" Virgil asked him.

Alan nodded. "Yeah, he showed me his car, too, and this woman was there. I think she killed him."

"Raquel?" John suggested.

"I think Virgil's right," Scott said. "I think I know what she is."

Virgil finished his sentence. "We're dealing with a woman in white."


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm not too sure on medical stuff, so appologies in advance it if all seems a little off ... but hopefully this chapter will tie in with Alan's first vision! I got visited by the Angel of Continuity ... its a first.**

Naturally, their destination that night was the bridge.

They had driven out of town for the day, lying low and attempting to catch up on lost sleep, one of the elder boys always acting as a sentry. Gordon had slept at once, and no one wanted to wake him, still far too pale for anyone's liking, and understandably shattered. Scott, suffering from a bout of insomnia, was wired, too keyed up to sleep and John never seemed to snatch more than four hours at a time, so Virgil opted to close his eyes first and set an example for Alan. The twelve year old did not want to settle down, not even when John offered himself as a pillow and wrapped a firm arm around the squirming boy while Scott went to stretch his legs.

"Close your eyes, kiddo," he murmured. "Lie still a moment and you'll sleep."

"I can't," Alan complained. "Virgil's snoring too loud."

"He can't help that, Sprout," John laughed. "Scott broke his nose when he was your age and it's never been the same since."

"Scott?" Alan exclaimed.

John nodded. "The year before you were born," he confirmed. "You probably won't believe this, but those two used to fight like cat and dog."

"Scott and Virgil?"

"They didn't always get on like they do now. They were forever arguing and one day, Scott took a swing at Virgil."

"Wow," Alan breathed, trying to picture his brother's fighting. "What did Virgil do?"

"Nothing," John remembered. "He was too shocked to cry and I think that's what got to Scott more than anything else, that sad, hurt look. He's never raised his fist again, as far as I know, and while Virgil was walking around with two black eyes, Scott couldn't do enough for him. It certainly brought them closer."

Alan peered around the headrest to look at his sleeping brother. He'd always been aware that Virgil's nose was slightly crooked, but it wasn't something he'd ever paid attention to before. It had simply always been there, like the sun or Saturday morning cartoons.

John pulled the boy close again. "C'mon, kiddo," he said. "Close your eyes."

Alan obediently did as he was told, although he was determined not to fall asleep. After what he'd experienced the night before, Alan wasn't keen to invite dreams inside his head.

"Maybe I'm like you, Johnny," he sighed, after waiting a full sixty seconds. "Maybe I can't sleep either."

John smiled indulgently. The youngest Tracy had never shown any signs of being unable to sleep, almost as famous as Virgil for wanting to stay under the covers. "Maybe," he said, diplomatically.

Alan sighed again. He wriggled. He stared at his brother. "Why don't you sleep, John?"

"The world thinks too loud," he answered, tapping the side of his head.

Alan's eyes grew wide. "Can you really hear everyone?"

"I can hear a murmur, mostly," John replied. "People tend to babble in their own minds."

"If you wanted to," Alan pressed, lifting himself up onto his elbow, "you could know what we're all thinking, right?"

John shook his head. "I don't go looking, Sprout. I don't want to invade peoples privacy."

"Unless we're in trouble," Alan told him confidently, a child who'd always been cared for and couldn't see a reason why he shouldn't be.

"Yeah, I guess I'd do it then," John agreed.

"What about accidentally?"

John smiled. "I catch little things, every now and then. Like how much you're hoping I won't do this!"

He tickled Alan's sensitive ribcage suddenly, making the boy laugh and squirm as Scott opened the door.

"You're supposed to be getting him to sleep, not winding him up," he noted with a smile, sliding behind the wheel. As sentry, it made sense for he and Virgil to swap places while the younger man slept. The two blonds became quiet once more and Scott picked up the copied files to read through again. Alan rolled onto his back, feet resting on Gordon's lap. The red head didn't stir. Alan pulled a few faces at his only blond brother instead.

"Alan, we're going to be busy tonight and I know you didn't sleep last night," Scott called from the front. "I really need you to go to sleep now."

Alan rolled his eyes as Scott slipped into parenting mode and John joined him, going so far as to cross his eyes. Scott didn't glance up from his paperwork.

"Don't make me come back there, guys."

Alan and John froze, before breaking into laughter at each other's expressions. Scott sighed and John sobered once more.

"Alright, Sprout," he said. "Why don't I tell you all about those lectures I attended? Close your eyes and you can picture what I'm talking about."

Within fifteen minutes, the pre-teens breathing evened and he slept. John met Scott's gaze in the rear-view mirror.

"Should I be insulted that he thinks I'm boring, or honoured that he trusts me?" he chuckled.

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Virgil woke when Scott started the engine.

"Where we going?" he asked groggily, cuffing at his eyes.

"Nowhere special," Scott replied. "Just been here too long, gonna move us on is all. Go back to sleep."

Virgil yawned, scrubbing at his face. "Nah, I'm awake now."

He glanced into the back seat, smiling at his sleeping siblings. Even John had finally dozed off. They drove in silence for a while and Virgil used the opportunity to assess his older brother. He had decided long ago that since Scott had appointed himself responsible for his brothers' well being, Virgil would be the one to look after Scott. He looked tired but tense, in control and alert but in need of some rest himself. Virgil was just about to tell him so, when Scott spoke.

"I'm glad you're awake, actually," he said, as if aware of Virgil's thoughts and keen not to hear them. "There's some things we need to discuss."

"Such as?"

"We need to be smarter. We were lucky the Sheriff didn't impound the SUV, those guns aren't exactly hidden in the boot."

Virgil nodded, unsurprised his brother was thinking ahead again. "I can rig something up for them," he offered. "A hidden panel or something."

Scott nodded his acceptance. "We also need to go over our ammo. It's been a while since we used this stuff and I'm not sure how well it's kept."

"Scott, it's rock salt and iron. That stuff doesn't tend to go off in a vacuum sealed vault."

"All the same," Scott replied, adamant. "It won't hurt us to go over it and it'll double as an exercise in getting our hand back into the game. We were kids when Dad gave this up."

Virgil snorted. "And you were top of his class, big brother. Don't worry, we'll be fine. I wasn't exactly a slouch myself and John was showing quite a bit of interest."

"Johnny was ten, he could barely lift the shot gun."

"But he was amazing at the research. He knew more than we did." Virgil twisted in his seat to face Scott as the man pulled over again. "Dad always said to play to our strengths. You're a great shot and I can dig a grave like no one else, we'll use John as our bookworm, just like the old days."

Scott nodded with a tired smile. "Fine. I'd still like to run through the weapons with him."

"Fair enough," Virgil agreed. "What about Gordy?"

"He'll have some good weapons knowledge from WASP," Scott pointed out. "I'm not too concerned about him. But he was small when Dad was doing this and he was sheltered from a lot of it."

"This is Gordon we're talking about," Virgil reminded him with a smile. "There wasn't much you could hide from him, not if he was determined. And he was."

"Still, it'd be in our interest to run down the basic do's and don'ts. Alan too."

Virgil lifted an eyebrow. "Really? You think the Sprout's ready for this?"

Scott shrugged a little helplessly. "He's already involved, Virge. I'd like to arm him with just enough knowledge to keep him safe. Besides, you're forgetting the demon. He's back for the kid and that scares me no end."

It scared Virgil no end that Scott was scared enough to admit it, but he kept his opinion to himself and nodded thoughtfully. "This evening, then," he agreed. "But first, you're going to get some shut eye. I'm prepared to knock you out, Scott," he added seriously when his big brother opened his mouth to protest.

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By the time they reached the bridge, it was nightfall. To Alan, it looked very different in the dark, something sinister in the framework, more threatening in the absence of sunlight. The other boys must have felt it also, the brothers exiting the car slowly, looking around for signs of trouble. Virgil, bereft of the coffee he craved, turned his attention back to the car and its new mud and scratches paintwork.

"You didn't consider the dent overkill, Johnny?" he grumbled gently.

Scott moved in to pacify his next youngest brother, the familiar territory comforting to all the boys. "You said yourself it was a good idea."

"Dents, Scott?"

"Let it go, Virge," Gordon advised.

John called their attention away. "Ah, guys?"

Alan had stepped forward, ignoring his brothers. It was dark out, cold. The pavement glistened with recent rain, the air smelled of thunder. Ozone, his mind supplied. Glancing heavenwards, Alan frowned. The earlier rain clouds had been swept away, leaving only wispy counterparts hanging in their wake, certainly not thunderstorms. The stars glittered between them, frozen in the dark sky, watching with icy distance the actions of man.

Alan shivered, drawing his coat about him tighter. It was too big for him, borrowed from a much taller brother, rock salt bullets in the pockets, Alan knew, should he care to look. His attention moved back to his brothers, now standing beside him. John and Scott flanked him, Virgil and Gordon on their other sides, each man's gaze riveted on the woman who stood on the bridge's railing. Her white dress fluttered in a breeze only she could feel, her dark hair lifting slightly also as she stared back. With an almost casual grace, she turned away and let her body fall forward.

Each and every Tracy took a step forward, as if to catch her, pull her back. Alan was aware of Scott saying something,

"Catch her!"

of Virgil replying with a shake of his head,

"There's nothing to catch!"

but he ignored them, his attention focused on the spot he'd last seen her, his mind conjuring a face, a man, someone she had known, he felt. He was dead, Alan was sure of it, although how he could have known this stranger's fate was beyond him. Then memory returned, the man solidified into a figure, as real as those of his brothers. It was Jeremy Allain, the spirit who'd found him at the wall while he had been vision questing back in Boston. His expression was twisted, pain and fury and something dark Alan couldn't identify.

Eyes glittering angrily, he moved forwards menacingly. "You have to stop her."

Alan cowered under his wrath. This was the first time this spirit had spoken to him and thinking back on the lecture Scott and Virgil had given him earlier, Alan realised he had died here, his energy stronger near the site of his death.

"Why are you doing nothing?" the spirit demanded.

Alan floundered for a reply. This was new, he'd never been forced to interact before, having previously been a passenger in someone else's memories. "I'm sorry," he whimpered.

The man's voice was a hiss, as cold as snake venom. "I was never unfaithful. I didn't deserve to die!"

Jeremy vanished and shaken, Alan joined his brothers at the spot the woman had disappeared, trying to keep calm and already knowing before they did what they'd find.

Nothing. Not a glimpse of the white figure appeared in the water below. Alan had known that, because she hadn't really been there in the first place. Not tonight, at least. She was long since gone. The smell was still strong, however, the cold still present and once more Alan hugged himself. He found himself turning towards a sudden, bright light and the engine of the car roared into life.

"Virgil?" Gordon's voice wavered just a little bit. Silently, the brunette held up his hand, keys dangling from one finger. The SUV lurched into motion.

"Run!" Scott ordered and the brothers turned, fleeing before the speeding car, forced to one side and against the railings of the bridge. With nowhere else to turn, and the thought of being trapped between speeding car and unresisting metal unappealing, the Tracy's leapt over the guardrail.

Scott and Virgil managed to distance their jumps right and each caught hold of the bridge. Virgil reached out a hand as his brothers fell past him, crying out in pain as their weight landed on his mind, their bodies caught by his hastily constructed energy field. Dangling from one arm and trying to maintain the force which held his brothers, Virgil scrambled to swing himself up so he sat on the support beam next to Scott.

His youngest brother always at the forefront of his mind, Scott used his own talents to lift the boy towards him, reaching out to tug Alan securely into his arms. To Alan, Scott felt as strong as the steel they sat upon and he was more than happy to let Scott hold him in place. He watched fearfully as Gordon and John dipped towards the river beneath them, Virgil uttering a soft groan. Scott, worried his brother could suffer a subdural haematoma, attempted to lift Gordon away as he had done with Alan, but the teenager was much bigger than the little Tracy and he was so far away he couldn't maintain his grip. Scott dropped Gordon as gently as he could, reaching one arm out to stop Virgil from toppling off his precarious seat even as the energy beneath the other boys blinked out of existence. With yells and splashes, John and Gordon fell into the river.

"Gordy!" Scott bellowed. He tugged both Virgil and Alan closer. "Are you alright? John?"

"We're fine!" John called back, much to his brother's relief.

"Oh yeah," Gordon agreed. "Just peachy."

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"But you like the water," John said, minutes later once he and Gordon were back on dry land. He was attempting to check on Virgil, who was insisting on checking the car, while trying to pacify Gordon. He wondered if this was how Scott usually felt, juggling brothers like some crazy circus act.

"Yeah, I like water," Gordon agreed. He shook his hands, scattering droplets of mud to land with a sodden splat on the asphalt. "This is not water."

John was equally messy and smelly, and Virgil was glad he'd not ended up getting wet too. He had Scott to thank for that. He glanced up. Scott stood silhouetted against the moon, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place and Virgil's mind conjured apt phrases without his say-so. Scott was a soldier of the night, a guard for the dark mistress, a jailer where moonbeams were bars and his very presence a chain. A force to be reckoned with. It was clear Virgil was going no-where until Scott said so, but the other man wasn't going to back down without a fight.

Virgil pushed the blond away gently. "I'm fine, Johnny. It's just a nose bleed."

John sighed, sitting back on his heels. He glanced up at Scott. "I'm not an expert," he reminded his older brother. "But I think he's got away with this one."

Scott was still a moment more, before he nodded slightly. Virgil climbed to his feet.

"Good. Now check out Captain Stubborn before he collapses while I take a look at what that bitch did to my car."

John sighed again. He hated getting in the way of his older brother's bickering and he'd have felt more comfortable if Virgil had looked Scott over, but he knew better than to mention it. Jeff Tracy had always insisted on his sons being able to perform basic first aid, and John was probably as qualified as the others, but Virgil had taken it that one step further. To him, the body was the same as an engine and being able to fix both was of vital importance to the mechanically minded Tracy. He glanced at Scott, wondering if 'Captain Stubborn' was going to live up to his moniker. Virgil had probably noticed something off about him, but had deemed it not serious enough to warrant his immediate attention.

Scott endured the invading penlight without fuss, grunting slightly when John diagnosed him with a mild concussion.

"How's the car?" he asked, moving towards the SUV.

Virgil straightened from the engine, turning to lean against the rim of the machine. "Well, whatever she did, its fine now."

Scott joined him, ruffling Alan's hair, who'd stuck his nose under the hood also, keen to learn more about the car. He'd shown a lasting interest in cars lately and Scott wouldn't be surprised if he'd soon be tinkering with them the way Virgil did.

"Good," he replied quietly, squinting against the headache that pounded the base of his skull. "Lets get out of here."

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Gordon drove them to the next town, away from the Sheriff and his wild theories. It was a quiet ride, Scott sleeping lightly in the backseat - the concussion not being too serious - Virgil sitting next to Alan so the boy wouldn't have to press up against John's wet clothing, leaving the stargazer riding shot gun, content with his own thoughts for company. Or someone else's, Gordon chuckled to himself.

He found his gaze drifting to the rear-view mirror, positioned not so he could see traffic behind him, but so he could watch his younger brother. There had always been something different about the kid, the way he would always know things, like when the toast was about to burn, but since this had started, there'd been something more. Something stronger, something that Gordon couldn't identify and that puzzled him.

He'd known Alan since birth, he knew every quirk and habit, he could almost predict how the boy would react in any given situation. They'd all had a hand in raising the child, they'd all left their mark on his developing personality in such a way that he seemed to encompass all of them, the best and the brightest of their own characters melded into a new form. Perhaps it was simply the fact that Alan was coming to the end of his childhood, on the edge of teenagerdom and pushing the boundaries of his own being and his brother's patience that was throwing Gordon off centre, but there was something that nagged at him.

He sighed, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to relax. The kid was sill Alan. He hadn't changed, he'd simply become ... more. Gordon wondered if this was how his Dad felt as his sons moved into the next stage of their lives and pitied the man, having had to sit through it four times before. Naturally, thinking of his absent father brought his mood down.

Where was he? Had he known this was going to happen? With the discovery of the wall, it appeared less likely he'd been taken away against his will, and while that was a good thing, it brought it's own troubles. Why in the world would Jeff Tracy, doting father and businessman of the year four times running, abandon his youngest son and successful company to scribble on walls in a dump like Jericho?

Gordon's eyes flickered briefly back to Alan. Had he done it simply to push Alan out of his locked down state, like some mad butterfly Dad ripping open it's offspring's cocoon ready to push the poor brat off the leaf, determinded to see his son shine and fly?

John turned to glance worriedly at him, and Gordon wondered just how much his brother had caught of that thought. He always said he didn't like reading other people, but Gordon accepted that stray bits and pieces got through time and again.

He sighed. Great. Now John was going to tell Scott he was going bananas.


	9. Chapter 9

**Well, not so much action in this one, but some nice brother introspection! Hope you all enjoy and please leave a comment. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Cheers!**

Scott sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

"Virgil," he tried again. "You know what over use does to us. You want to risk Gordon going into shock or John going out of his mind?"

"Exactly," Virgil nodded, and Scott sighed once more, finding it hard to follow the logic.

"Virge," he began, but his brother cut him off.

"Think about it. What if we really need something and we can't perform? We lose what we want and we go down for the count too." Virgil shook his head. "That lack of control's not acceptable."

Scott rubbed at his face tiredly. "You're talking about the bridge. Virge, you probably saved their lives by catching them like you did. Don't lose sight of that."

"You're thinking the same thing," Virgil accused him. "You're thinking that if you could have lifted Gordy, you'd have saved me the nose bleed and probably stopped John from a dunk in the mud."

Scott didn't really have an answer to that. Virgil knew him too well.

"Suppose we figure out a training programme?" his brother suggested. "Nothing much at first, just enough to get us used to using them again. You gotta admit, we're a little rusty and it'd certainly come in handy in the future. Then we add to it. Like our bodies and our minds, we have to exercise what we can do to build them up."

Scott held up his hand. "Okay, you've convinced me."

"Great!" Virgil beamed. "I'll leave you to it."

"Hold on!"

Virgil shrugged. "I'm an ideas man, but you? Commander Organisation."

It didn't escape Scott's notice he'd gotten a promotion.

"Virgil, wait," he called as the other man made to leave. "About the bridge."

Virgil screwed his face up. "We have to do this?"

"I think so, yes," Scott agreed.

Virgil slouched against the wall, staring out into the parking lot. Upon reaching town, they'd found another motel, brought two rooms and Virgil had indicated he wanted Scott to step outside for a moment. In part, it was so he could put forward his idea, but mostly it was because he felt Scott needed to take a break from the parent role and touch base with his second-in-command. Virgil had hoped to slip away before Scott cornered him.

Seeing Virgil wasn't going to launch into anything deep and meaningful, Scott decided to give him a nudge.

"You did good, Virge. Things could have been a lot worse. So the boys got an excuse to wash? They weren't hurt from a little river water."

Virgil glanced at him. "There could have been rocks beneath them, Scotty. Anything could have happened."

Scott shook his head. "This isn't like you, normally you're talking me out of playing the 'what if' game. What gives? Really?"

"Really? Aside from the fact our father's MIA, our brother's got a demon on his tail and we're all AWOL, hoping the press and everyone else for that matter doesn't turn up?"

Scott waited the tirade out. It wasn't often Virgil ranted, so he let him do it to the max when he felt the need. "Aside from that, yes," he replied calmly.

Virgil let out a snort of laughter and Scott felt the tension ease.

"I dunno, Scotty," Virgil said softly. "It's all gone so fast, and with Alan ... well, you didn't see him after Gordon took him for a little trip."

Scott tilted his head. Virgil had downplayed the event when he'd reported it earlier, and from the looks of things, he'd handled the situation with predicable calm. That was the trouble with Virgil, he was so good at keeping a cool head that you didn't realise how much things could shake him.

"Tell me," he invited softly.

Virgil shrugged. "It was like he was so scared he'd forgotten how to breathe," he began quietly. "When I got him back, he was almost catatonic, like he'd shut himself down so he wouldn't have to be scared anymore."

Virgil turned suddenly and Scott was caught by the brilliance of his dark gaze.

"He wasn't our Allie," Virgil insisted. "He wasn't with me at all. I ran with him in my arms, Scott, and he wasn't there."

Virgil was getting to the heart of the matter now, and Scott didn't dare speak, afraid if he interrupted, Virgil would stop and bottle it all back up again.

"I could feel his heart beating against my chest, his weight in my hands," Virgil continued, holding them up as if disbelieving they had carried his brother and not a stranger. "But when I got a look at him, it was like he'd turned away, locked inside himself. His eyes were empty, Scott, they were just ... empty."

Virgil shuddered and fell silent.

"Virge?" Scott prompted.

"This scares me. What it's doing to him, what it's forcing him to become. We know nothing about this stuff, and we could be damaging him further with our ignorance."

Scott nodded, taking the concern on board. "I'll get John to talk to him," he promised. "He knows a little more about this than we do, and I know their powers aren't the same, but he can get a good read on the kid, see if there's anything we ought to be worried about."

Virgil nodded his acceptance and changed the subject. "Gordon has a habit of pushing himself to the limit. Keep a tight rein on him," he advised.

Wisdom imparted, Virgil turned back to the motel room he'd share with the red head, leaving Scott with a new set of problems to find a solution to. He knew Virgil was right, it was why Gordon couldn't teleport away from the river earlier. He'd over done it so that even with food and rest he couldn't access his ability. Once more Scott sighed. He was tired, but he knew he wouldn't be heading for his bed anytime soon, so Scott made himself as comfortable as he could on the cold concrete, leaning back against the wall and letting his mind wander.

He couldn't blame Virgil for seeking his room, he most likely felt as rough as he did, without the added benefit of a snooze in the car and it wasn't as if Scott wanted to burden his already troubled brother any further, but a part of him wished he'd stayed. There was something so solid about his presence, so absolute it always reassured Scott. Not that he'd ever admit he needed reassuring every once in a while.

Scott was used to taking on the responsibility of the family's various problems, however, and thought his way through them until he found a satisfactory solution. First things first, Virgil. He couldn't do much without his wing-man to back him up and he needed to get Virgil back to himself before he could begin to tackle any of the others. The Tracy's had a system and it worked. While Scott would take on Gordon, Virgil would watch John. When Scott had to deal with Alan, Virgil would mother Gordon. If John worked himself up into one of his moods, Scott would be there with him through it, safe in the knowledge the other boys were under Virgil's wing. And all the while, the two eldest would look out for each other and the younger three would do their bit for their family too.

It was right, it was how it should be and damnit, it worked. Scott knew that right now, Gordon would be attempting to draw Virgil out of his dark mood in one room, while John and Alan would be talking in the other. It didn't matter that it was about nothing important, but it mattered that they'd be talking.

Scott decided to let Gordon at it. If anyone could bring a smile to the face, it was him. It wouldn't fix the fear in Virgil, but it'd bring him to a place where Scott could reach him. And once he'd worked out how they were going to devise training in their certain abilities - and the thought made Scott's head spin just wondering how he would enforce safety measures - Scott knew that that would go a long way to help Virgil. His worries were well grounded, but Scott could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

His thoughts turned to John. Naturally a quiet soul, the star-gazer was often hard to get a read on. Unlike Virgil, who could hide himself reasonably well, John just got quiet. Of course, he got quiet when he was running through complicated computer programmes in his spare time, and he got quiet when he was plotting a comet's trajectory. He was quiet when he was writing and he was quiet when he was attempting to tune out the endless mumble that he had to put up with in his mind. All in all, it didn't leave Scott a lot to go on. Warning signs were, of course, exhaustion, aversion to bright lights, a soft complaint about a headache and of course, the terrible mood swings, but these were all connected to his psychic gift. When John was upset, he didn't seem to act an awful lot different to when he wasn't.

In these last few days, though, Alan was becoming a good indicator for how the other blond was feeling. The two had always been close, drawn together in their mutual wonder at the world beyond their own planet, but since Alan's empathy talent had grown, Scott had been surreptitiously using him to guide him with John. Alan brought his brother out of himself when they were together, but alone the twenty-two year old was a little too much his own man, and while Scott admired his self-sufficiency, within a team he needed to be in the loop. His mind made up to talk to John, Scott moved on.

Gordon was another story altogether. Scott often found he'd have to hold him back, tone down his natural exuberance and getting him and Alan together in a mind for mischief was just asking for trouble. But the red head had found a new level of maturity recently, in part due to his time in WASP. When trouble arrived, Gordon got serious in a hurry, putting others before himself and Scott appreciated that aspect of his personality as much as he did the comic relief Gordon was so hell bent on providing. However, despite his almost chameleon-like ability to adapt to any given situation, Gordon was the least settled into the new life they'd found themselves living and Scott thought he knew why.

Out of all of them, Gordon had the most to lose, Scott not counting his own career with the Air Force. Since he was sixteen, Gordon had been adamant on joining WASP and last year he'd made it with understandable pride. Scott had asked him to throw that away without so much as a second thought and while he knew Gordon would be only too willing to do what it took to find their Dad, Scott was expecting an explosion. Probably after they found Dad, and in the man's face too and Scott wasn't looking forward to sorting that one out at all, but he'd deal with it when it came. For now, he had to keep Gordon sane and Scott realised yet another talk was on his list. The key to Gordon, however, would be to treat him as an equal and not come across as big-brother-knows-best. Some of the other boy's favourite arguments came from Scott's well meaning intentions and Gordon's struggle to assert himself.

As for Alan ... Scott didn't know where to begin. The explanation of what their Dad had done and what they were doing now had gone a long way in including Alan in their own childhood memories, something they'd been very careful about up to now. Scott could understand that the kid felt a little cheated and left out once these revelations had come to light and Scott was again expecting that to come back to bite him on the ass, but for now, Alan was simply taking everything on board and trying to adjust his thinking accordingly. It was doubly hard for him, having not grown up knowing he could do things others couldn't and trying to adapt to those things now. Several times he'd caught a strong emotion off of one of his brothers and ended up either frightened with the intensity that he felt it, or unable to stop converting that feeling into restlessness. John would get a read on his thoughts when he became incoherent, and either Virgil or Scott would swoop in, their calming influence settling him again. Virgil explained to Alan that that particular gift was like a dial, he just had to find the right setting for it and he'd be okay.

It wasn't all bad, though. Alan had played a very amusing joke on Gordon at breakfast. Focusing on feeling sleepy and aiming it at his brother, Gordon had almost fallen face first into his pancakes. Alan was going to be handy in convincing people to swallow their lies, Scott thought with a little pang of guilt. The prank had been well received, mainly because his brothers had been so worried that Alan was so subdued after everything he'd been through. Scott thought he was handling it remarkably well, but he was still only twelve years old and they couldn't lose sight of that. It was a fine balance between not stealing his childhood away and not keeping him ignorant of the dangers.

Not that Alan was going to forget that, not with ghosts randomly popping up to demand he help them. Alan had taken Scott off to one side and told him about Jeremy's latest visit and Scott was tempted to locate his bones and salt 'n' burn the bastard for scaring his little brother so bad. Still, Alan's talents as a medium could give them the edge when it came to sending restless spirits across the void and, naturally, Scott was planning to take full advantage of his precognition. He was hoping Alan would develop his talent to read the memories imprinted on objects and places and therein lay Scott's biggest problem.

Had it been any other brother, Scott would have been keen for them to show him what they could do. But it was Alan, his youngest brother and the one he'd practically raised from infant-hood and it was hard to let him go, knowing how much it upset the kid. Yes, his abilities were useful, but Scott had spent twelve years looking after him and every instinct screamed at him to put an end to this. Unfortunately, unless Scott could get his gifts suppressed again, there wasn't much he could do but guide him through it as best he could and be there at the other side to pull him back again.

Scott wrenched his thoughts away from his brothers and stood, brushing his jeans off. It looked as though they were going to be at this longer than he'd originally planned and there were things he'd put off too long as it was. Scott had other things besides his brothers to occupy his time and that was fine by him. Waiting for things to happen had never been his style, he much preferred to get to them first.

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Scott stuck his head inside Virgil and Gordon's room, pleased to find them both smiling and relaxed. Well, it was rare to see either of them uptight, both having the type of easy-going nature that didn't dwell on annoyances and upsets, but after the tense atmosphere of the car journey, Scott felt he could breathe a bit easier.

"Come across to the other room. I've got jobs for you."

Gordon sprang to his feet, Virgil following with a more easy grace. Sitting idle wasn't a Tracy pastime and Scott was sure they'd have found something to occupy their time with soon enough, but having a job handed to them was appealing also. Scott motioned them into the other room, shutting the door behind him and gesturing that they find a seat. Scott remained standing, all the better to pace.

"Alright," he began. "We've been at this a few days now, and I don't think any of us believe Dad's still here. He obviously was, and it's more than likely he was here by his own design. At this stage, I'm not willing to speculate as to why, but it's clear he's hunting."

"D'ya think he meant us to follow him, Scotty?" John asked.

Scott nodded. "When he left Jericho, he left co-ordinates in his journal with my name. Either he hoped we'd get here before the local authorities swiped his stuff, or he knew we'd nose around their department. Whatever his thinking, he left it and he deliberately left that wall for us to find."

Virgil tilted his head. "You think he wants us to get into hunting?"

"It looks that way." Scott paused. "I can't say what was in his head, but perhaps he knew Alan would break through his barriers, that he figured it'd be safe for him to take off."

"That's insane," Gordon insisted. "Alan had the first vision after taking a tumble and he could have spent forever wandering around Boston looking for John."

"I knew where he was staying," Alan told him indignantly, but his brother wasn't finished.

"How safe do you suppose it is for a twelve year old to board a greyhound bus and spend a few days state hopping?"

Scott held up his hand to stop him. "Alright, Gordy. I get it. The point is, we're here and Dad left unfinished business. I don't know why he started going after Raquel, but we're going to finish it."

"Good," Alan sighed. "Then we can go back to being normal again."

Scott avoided Virgil's eyes, but couldn't help noticing that John and Gordon shared a quick glance. It seemed only Alan believed they'd go back to their happy little world once Raquel was put to rest. He cleared his throat.

"For now, though, we're badly under prepared. We've been hiding our gifts from the world, and from ourselves as well. It's time we accepted who we are and what we can do. We're out of practise, rusty, we've forgotten what we are capable of."

"We get it, we suck," Gordon told him with a grin. "Just what have you got planned?"

"Eventually, we're going to practise our skills," Scott smiled. "But for now, we're going to have to organise ourselves better. I'm going to go next door and conference call Tracy Industries. Virgil, you can organise some cash - I can't use my card anymore and neither can any of you, not unless its on official Tracy business. They're too easily traced. Gordon, I want to know how extensive the fire damage is to the house, what we can salvage and why the blueprints aren't finalised yet."

"What about me, Scotty?" Alan demanded and his brother smiled.

"You're enrolling in the prestigious John Glenn programme. I expect to hear good things, Sprout, so don't waste his time." Scott glanced at John. "I don't expect you to spend your days playing teacher, Johnny, just a few hours a day will do. We've got to give him a chance at an education."

"I understand," John told him. He turned to a disappointed Alan. "It'll be fun, kiddo, promise."

"Once we're done here in the real world, we'll get sorted in the supernatural," Scott continued. "I want us at our best. I want us prepared for anything. I want us to use our abilities both defensively and aggressively, where we need to. Exercising caution around civilians," he added, glancing at Gordon, who did his best to appear innocent.

"What do you have in mind?" Virgil asked him.

"I want you to be able to bar things, set traps and maintain protective force fields. I want you to be able to contain what we need you to and deflect trouble. You need to be able to lift, hold and push back. I want manoeuvrability from you, Virge."

Virgil nodded, mind already plotting how best to go about his task.

"John, you're already adept at blocking out thoughts, but I want you to be able to read on command. It'd be handy if you could send us information, give us an edge by letting us interact without speaking, but I don't want you to hurt yourself. You know your boundaries. Give yourself time to get stronger before you push them back."

Scott turned to the copper haired Tracy. "Same goes for you, kid. There'll be trouble if I have to give you a shot of insulin and we can't afford to repeat yesterday."

Scott said no more, but Gordon knew he was referring to not being able to translocate. Scott broke the silence. "You did really well, Gords, but you need to look after yourself as well as your team."

Gordon nodded, accepting the dressing down as well as the praise, liking being spoken to as an adult, as part of the team. It reminded him with a pang of being with WASP.

Alan scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the thin carpet. "That's not fair," he muttered darkly. "You all get to do really cool things, but I gotta see stupid ghosts."

Scott reached him, and ran his fingers through his brother's soft blond hair. "You get to play a vital role, Sprout," he soothed. "Thanks to you, we're gonna be well prepared, we'll know what's coming. In time, you could probably replace me as field co-ordinator."

Alan brightened. "You really think so, Scotty?"

Scott nodded seriously. "Without a doubt. You're the centre of this whole operation." He brushed stray locks of hair from Alan's forehead. "And don't forget, you've more than one talent."

Alan beamed under his brother's attention, realising just how much he'd missed Scott since he'd joined the Air Force. His brother smiled down at him for a few moments more, before regretfully pulling himself away. It was all too easy to get caught up in Alan, whether it was his emphatic charm or sweet nature, Scott would never know and nor did he care. Telling the kid he wanted him to listen to John and study hard, Scott left to call his father's departmental heads. Virgil followed him out the door.

"What's up?" Scott asked.

"I was about to ask the same thing. 'In time, you could probably replace me'?" Virgil repeated. "Scott, you don't think this'll be over soon, do you?"

Scott shrugged. "Whether we find Dad, I think the Tracy's are back in business."

Virgil let him go then, not wanting to hear any more. Worry settled in his stomach, dark and heavy. 'Whether', Scott had said.

Not 'when'.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks so much to all those still following this! Also, big thanks to all reviewers. Please keep your comments coming!**

**We're nearing the end now, so things should be get moving shortly, beginning with this chapter! Before we go on, though, a huge apology - who knows where I got 'Raquel' from, but her name was 'Constance' in the show and I realised it far too late in the game. Constance, Raquel - not that much of a difference ... oops.**

Alan lifted his head slowly. The insistent 'buzz' drew his gaze to his discarded phone, left on the tiny table beside John's laptop. Why he'd kept the thing with him he didn't know, perhaps out of habit, perhaps the small weight carried a lot 'normal' with it, but whatever the reason, he hadn't thrown the broken object away.

Only, now it didn't appear so broken.

John attempted to draw Alan's attention back to the work he'd set up for him, but Virgil and Gordon both remembered that he'd broken his phone in the fall down the stairs and the red head gestured that he pick it up. Gingerly, Alan reached out for it. The display was alive for the first time in days, showing him he had one message saved in the voicemail box. Mouth dry, Alan raised it to his ear and activated the message.

He was almost relieved to hear static crackling through the smashed device and with a small smile, dropped the phone back onto the table. Virgil, however, picked it up, turning it over in his hands and silently brought it back to his own corner of the room, mind already working on possibilities. Gordon and Alan shared an amused glance, before John once more tapped the laptop with the back of his fingers and the boys went back to their tasks.

While Alan battled his way through math problems, and John was pleasantly surprised to find he could weave in and out of his brother's mind with ease, listening to him work and actually following Alan's train of thought through to the solution, Gordon was busy phoning the contractors vying for the once in a lifetime job of rebuilding the Tracy's family home. He'd opted not to select vidphone, doubting he looked his best after a few days on the road with little sleep, lots of stress and few changes of clothes. Besides, he was sure he wasn't supposed to be hiding out in a motel room with peeling seventies decor. His job was to ensure the reputation of the family remained intact, after all.

John allowed Alan some privacy and turned his attention to his next youngest brother. He'd warned them that he'd be attempting to do as Scott had asked.

"Play nice, kids," he'd smiled. "Keep it clean."

None of them had been too impressed with the idea, but Scott's reasoning had been sound and John needed to be able to practise on someone, somewhere safe that if he should strain his mind, he could be looked after.

It was much harder to read Gordon than it had been with Alan. Every time he thought he'd got it locked down, Gordon's thoughts would abruptly turn in another direction and John would be thrown off, an unseen passenger on a roller coaster with no concept of gravity or any regard for the normal rules of physics. It was giving John a headache and his brother's were starting to glimmer with that ethereal light he'd come to associate with psychics, but he reckoned he could afford one more attempt, this time on Virgil.

A sheer wall of shining blacks met him, blues, greens, purples; a raven's wing of denial and Virgil glanced up with a smirk. John retreated, genuinely amazed.

"I couldn't get in," he gasped, exhausted. "Virge, how'd you do that?"

"Energy field," he replied. He frowned, suddenly worried. "I didn't hurt you, did I Johnny?"

John shook his head slowly, not keen to aggravate the slight beat in his temples.

"You can build a force field inside your head?" Gordon demanded, having finished his last call in time to hear what was going on. "Is that even possible?"

Virgil shrugged. "Why not? I built it with my mind, stands to reason I can use it there."

A wave of worry washed over Alan and he bit his lip, in part to push down the sudden panic that always seemed to accompany the reception of someone else's emotions and in part to concentrate. There was a slight tingle to the left, a strange sensation to feel within your mind, but Alan followed it and turned to John, concerned. "What's wrong?"

It took a second for John to realise what had happened. He grimaced. "Sorry, Sprout."

"John?" Virgil prompted in such a manner his brother knew there'd be no dissuading him.

"I'd not considered that I could be blocked," the blond admitted. "Of course, I should have. We're not the only ones out there, after all."

Gordon nodded. "Which means, there could be more like you. And that worries you because it makes you vulnerable to them."

"I thought I was the telepath?" John joked. In truth, he was more than a little disconcerted.

Whether it was Alan's open, youthful mind or simply that Gordon was thinking too fast for him to follow, he'd felt mildly perturbed that his ability seemed so limited. Of course, it went without saying that not using it for so long had left him a little out of practise, but it wasn't until Virgil's trick that he'd started to really think of the implications. It left him with chills.

There was warmth suddenly washing through him and while it didn't dispel that cold feeling entirely, it went a way to nudge it back into the tight little corner of his mind where John kept his worries. He turned to find Alan smiling hopefully at him and he couldn't resist running his hand through the already tousled hair. "Thanks, kiddo," he murmured.

The door opened to admit Scott, who was quick to notice the tension in the room. "What's going on?"

Gordon smiled up at him. "Just a reality check."

Scott wasn't too sure what to make of the comment, but he let it slide. Virgil straightened from what he was working on; penknife in one hand and, Scott was surprised to see, Alan's phone in the other.

"That should do it," Virgil commented with satisfaction. He held the broken phone out so everyone could hear it.

"Virge, what the -" Scott began.

"I ... can ... never ... go ... back ..."

Alan shuddered. "That's her," he told his brothers. "That's Raquel."

"Sounds like a barrel of fun," Gordon observed. "What exactly is a 'woman in white', anyway?"

"An angry spirit," Scott told him. "Born out of violent death."

John nodded. "Usually having been cheated on, the woman is so distraught she'll take her own life."

"She can't cross over because she feels she has a task to do," Virgil continued. "Women in white aren't exactly forgiving. If she finds a man willing to cheat on his partner, she goes after him."

"Jeremy Allain never did that," Alan remembered quietly. "He told me so."

"She's escalating, becoming more random," John said.

"Are they allowed to do that?" Alan asked.

Virgil's smile was soft. "They're spirits, Sprout. There's no hard and fast rule."

"What's she doing calling Alan?" Gordon asked, worried gaze finding and holding that of his eldest brother. "_How_ is she calling Alan?"

"Alan's a medium, he calls to her," John answered before Scott could. "And spirits like electronics, the patterns emitted by them can act as conductors. What Raquel left on the phone was EVP, Electronic Voice Phenomena."

Alan reached out to take his cell from Virgil. "My phone's broken," he told them, a sad, little lost boy and his tone unlike his own. "She can't go back."

Scott glanced worriedly at John, but Virgil was acting already.

"We know, honey," he soothed, stretching out his hand to cup the back of his brother's neck. "Come on back to us."

Drawn by the deep voice, Alan took a breath and looked up. "Virgie?"

Virgil smiled, warm eyes crinkling slightly. "Right here, little brother."

"I don't like it," Alan gulped. He thrust his phone out, hand trembling and Scott hurried to take it from him. "She's horrible and I don't like it."

"What is it?" Scott asked, crouching down so he was staring into his brother's tear brimmed eyes. He rubbed Alan's knees. "What did she do?"

Alan shut his eyes and shook his head. "She's just really sad, Scott. And cos she's sad, she wants to hurt people."

Scott swallowed. "Does she want to hurt you?"

"No," Alan whispered. "No, not me."

Scott pulled the unresisting boy into his arms. "Hey," he whispered. "You got out of there pretty fast, Sprout. Remember that. She can't hold you if you don't want to stay."

Alan nodded against his shoulder and pulled away, attempting to take control once more. "I'm alright now," he insisted. "You can let go."

Scott did, with a sad, proud smile. In many ways, Alan was like a son to him and although it hurt when he asserted his independence from him, Scott couldn't help but acknowledge the kid was growing up. He stood straight again, meeting everyone's gaze.

"We're letting Raquel call the shots," he told his brothers, tone commanding. "That was the last time. We meet her on our terms and we end this."

"Know thy enemy," John agreed. He reached for his laptop, typing quickly.

"Surely Dad would have salted and burnt her bones," Gordon mused. "Isn't that usually the way these things work?"

"She could have another way to cross over," Virgil reminded him.

"She can't go back," Alan murmured, glancing up quickly to fend off four worried brothers. "No, I'm okay."

"That's probably it," Scott told him. "But where can't she go?"

"Here she is," John announced. "Raquel Welch, survived by Joseph Welch."

Gordon leaned over to try to read the screen. "Does it say why she did it?"

"Yeah," John said softly. "An hour before they found her, she made a call to 911. She left her kids in the bathtub, went away for a moment and when she came back, they weren't breathing. Both died."

"Looks like we need to visit Joseph," Scott said. "He could be the trigger for Raquel's swan dive. Can you find an address, John?"

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Joseph Welch had moved from the family home not long after burying his wife and children. It was understandable, John thought. Jeff Tracy had done the same when the mother of his sons had perished, unable to walk where her ghost trod, where her memory lingered like perfume and where his little boys expected to see her. John swallowed down the lump that came to his throat. After all these years, it still felt as if they'd abandoned her, not that she'd gone where they couldn't follow.

At least they had had each other. John couldn't help but wonder where Joseph had turned in his grief. He appeared to live alone, in a dusty, junkyard of a house, chain link running around the property, not, John was sure, to keep people out, but more to fence himself in. John turned to glance at Alan in the backseat.

"What do you make of it, kiddo?"

They'd decided to make use of Alan's empathy, mostly to help him train to control it and a little to make him feel secure. If he could learn to dial it up or down, he'd no longer fear it and Alan had jumped at the chance to help.

He screwed his face up thoughtfully. "He doesn't want people to talk to him," he ventured, unsure if he was translating the adult emotions correctly. "He feels guilty."

"About Raquel?" Scott asked.

Alan shrugged. "I don't know. It's all dark and depressing. He's punishing himself, if that helps?"

"It helps plenty," Scott assured him. "John? What can you pick up?"

"The Sprout's right. The guilt is at the forefront of his mind. He's set himself away from human contact on purpose."

"Cos it's what got Raquel so hurt," Alan confirmed, a little surprised at his own conviction.

Scott smiled at him. "That's good, Allie. You're really getting the hang of it now."

Alan, emboldened by his success, delved deeper. "He doesn't feel sad anymore, though," he revealed. "He's got too bitter to feel anything for her."

"Alright," Scott sighed. "He's going to be tough to talk to. Come on, John, let's see what you can lift from his mind."

The three boys exited the car, Alan staying close to the SUV while his brothers made their way onto the property. Joseph Welch was working outside, a man old before his time. His face was lined by a combination of long term grief and sun exposure, while a drinking habit had given his nose a reddish tinge. He looked, Scott thought, like a bloodhound, all long face and droopy eyes, but those eyes were as deceptive as the dog's, holding the same intelligent spark deep down inside. Grouchy and sour he may well be, but stupid he wasn't.

"This is private property," he snapped tiredly as the brothers drew closer.

"Are you Joseph Welch?" Scott called, more to be sociable than anything else.

The man eyed him suspiciously. "I know you," he told him and Scott's heart beat that little bit faster in fear that he'd been recognised. "I've spoken to your kind before. You back to rake up the dirt again?"

"We just want to know what happened, sir," John replied, realising the man thought they were reporters.

"I bet you do," Joseph replied. He aimed his glare behind them. "You bringing kids along with you now? Supposed to soften my heart, bring the tears?"

Scott followed his line of sight, resting on Alan, who stared back. "He's on work experience."

"Well, invite him up," Joseph replied. "He ain't gonna learn nothing over there. Boy! Come over here!"

Alan did as he was told, making sure to stand just behind his brothers, unsure of the man. Joseph lowered his head, so he was at the same level as Alan.

"They're leeches," he spat. "They feed on human misery. You wanna be a leech, do you?"

Alan shook his vehemently. "I want to know what happened, so Raquel can rest."

Joseph straightened. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"What happened to your children?" John asked quickly.

"I already told that other guy a few days ago. They drowned."

John was surprised when he saw his father's face appear in the man's thoughts, but kept his expression neutral. "I know, sir, I'm sorry. We're facts checking."

"I dunno what kinda paper you guys run," Joseph grumbled. "The questions he asked."

"About your late wife?" Scott hazarded.

"Yeah, wanted to know where I'd buried her."

"And where was that, again?"

"Out the back of our old place in Breckenridge, over in Jericho."

Scott nodded as if confirming the information. "You never married again, did you, Mr Welch?"

"I gotta go through this again? No, I never remarried. I loved Raquel."

"You had a happy marriage?" John asked.

"Yeah," Joseph agreed.

"That's why you feel guilty for cheating on her," Alan told him.

Joseph looked at the boy askance, but John drew his attention.

"Ever heard of a woman in white, Mr Welch? Or a weeping woman?" he asked. "It's a ghost story."

"Traditionally, the woman in question discovers her husband's cheated on her," Scott explained. "In a fit of temporary insanity, she murders their children."

"What?"

"Once she comes to her senses, she takes her own life and becomes a restless spirit, seeking other unfaithful men. Those men disappear."

"I'd like to know where you boys are going with this," Joseph growled threateningly.

"You want to blame Raquel for killing your kids," Alan said softly, but with confidence.

"But you know you drove her to it," John continued. "And you can't hold her responsible."

"My wife loved our babies!" Joseph snarled. Scott almost felt sorry for the guy as his brother's tag teamed him.

"But you did cheat on her?" John pressed.

"And you feel bad about it," Alan confirmed.

"You suspect she found out."

"And that guilt eats at you."

"You've often worried she had something to do with the kids' deaths."

"It just tares you apart," Alan finished, eyes shining with sympathy. "You made a mistake and everyone had to pay for it."

Joseph was taken aback for a moment, unable to think of anything to say and Scott felt compelled to end the silence.

"I'm sorry if we've raked over old wounds, Mr Welch. But you've been very helpful."

"Get off my property," Joseph whispered.


	11. Chapter 11

**Once more, I'd like to thank all those who've reviewed the last chapter - keep 'em coming!**

**A few warnings for this chapter, involves alcohol consumption (but not excessive) and suggested violence (again, not excessive). And Gordon almost gets lucky!**

**Enjoy!**

"Well, at least we know for sure what happened," John commented softly as they climbed back into their vehicle. "It wasn't Joseph. He believes she murdered the kids, but he never gave those suspicions to the police."

"He's so angry with her," Alan sighed. "Then he's angry at himself cos he made her angry in the first place and he can't be angry at her anymore. Now he's tired of being angry, but he can't forgive her or himself and he's just bitter."

"That's a lot of emotion to be holding onto for so long," Scott said thoughtfully. He turned to the back seat. "You okay, kid? Holding your own?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad it's sunny today."

Scott had to smile, even though the shadows were getting longer and it was nearing dusk. "Me too, kiddo, me too."

"Dad was here," John mentioned quietly as Scott started the engine.

"The guy asking the weird questions?" Scott guessed, a little sigh escaping when he saw Alan's face brighten. "I wondered. He must have left not long after he visited Joseph."

"We have a destination, though," John reminded him. "Those co-ordinates he left."

He'd seen Scott flicking through their father's journal late at night, unable to sleep. If Scott found the tattered old book a comfort, John was going to let things be, but if it was a destructive move on his brother's part, John wouldn't hesitate to confiscate it. Scott was a control freak, by nature and by design, but he could carry it too far and end up hurting himself, telling himself what he was doing was for the good of his brothers or making him stronger. It was sometimes as if Scott thought he could become immune to pain once he'd had enough of it, and who knew, maybe you could do that, but him willingly taking hit after hit wasn't something anyone could stand to watch.

For now, though, Scott was alright and Virgil had his eye on him. Between the two of them, John was willing to bet they'd be ready should Scott decide now was the time to fall on his sword for his cause. Thinking of Virgil, John wondered where he was.

"Bringing home the bacon, hopefully," Scott replied, refusing to elaborate on how Virgil was out making money. "That's his party trick," Scott insisted. "I'm not going to spoil the surprise."

"We're near the exit for Jericho," John pointed out, a moment later. "You want to turn off, or collect the other two first?"

"Let's get the boys," Scott decided. "We'll do this as a family."

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Virgil worked the knots from his shoulders as he entered the building. The other patrons eyed him as he made his way to the bar, a powerful man who looked as if he could do the business, which was an expression his younger brother was unused to seeing.

Gordon made up his mind to find out just what Virgil did while he was away developing engines for Tracy Industries. A man didn't learn that look penning designs or building prototypes, unless there was something fundamentally wrong with Gordon's understanding of the type of work Virgil was involved with.

Virgil ordered a beer, not batting an eye when Gordon added his order to the bill. Although Gordon was underage in this country and looked it, the pretty girl behind the counter served him instantly, with a suggestive smile to boot. Returning it, Gordon decided this trip certainly had its moments.

Virgil ordered a chaser, something Gordon hadn't realised his brother would enjoy, much less know. He'd always had Virgil pegged as slow, steady and kinda dull, drink wise. Scott, with his military service, knew how to kick back and relax and even John could be persuaded to let his hair down, but Virgil hadn't seemed the type to sit as comfortably in a strange bar as he was doing now. Gordon therefore watched with interest as Virgil downed the shot without appearing to notice the alcohol, swallowed the last of his beer and asked for another. Once the bottle had been placed before him, Virgil pushed away from the bar and wandered casually to the pool table, quietly offering to play the winner of the current game.

Sitting, Gordon frowned. This was how Virgil had interpreted Scott's order to acquire some ready cash? Virgil was just full of surprises this evening. Gordon watched as his brother played, doing alright, but missing several winning shots. Growing bored, Gordon turned and found the bar girl a decent pastime while Virgil lulled his companions into what the red head seriously hoped was a false sense of security.

Her name, he discovered upon ordering a second beer, was Wendy, she was free every Wednesday night and boyfriends held no appeal for her.

"No one's gonna come looking for me, then?" Gordon asked, lifting the bottle to his lips.

"Daddy's long gone, no brothers," Wendy purred, leaning on the counter and letting Gordon get a good look at what was on offer. "And unless you're the same red head from Jericho with the APB I heard about on the scanner, I don't see a problem."

Gordon tried hard not to react to the news the Sheriff's department had thought him important enough and plastered on a dazzling grin instead. "You wouldn't know a place I could lie low, would you?"

Wendy laughed. "I'm sure I could think of somewhere. It'd cost ya, though."

"I'm certain we could come to an agreement," Gordon murmured softly, watching her expression change from amused flirting to seductive interest. The moment was broken when one of the regulars called her away.

Gordon turned to check on Virgil. His older brother was cleaning the table, hitting some pretty impressive shots. When he straightened from sinking the black, his expression suggested his opponent could try not to pay up, as long as he was willing to eat through a straw for the foreseeable future. Grudgingly giving the cash over, the man talked his friend into trying to win the money back. Gordon smirked. Trust Virgil to master everything he put his mind to. Typical Tracy over achiever. The aforementioned scanner spluttered as Wendy returned, telling patrol cars nearby about a disturbance on Jefferson Street and Gordon spun back round to listen.

"Kids," Wendy shrugged, seeing Gordon's interest. "The local off licence is on Jefferson."

"Why'd you have that thing?" Gordon asked.

Wendy nodded towards the pool table. "We're not exactly a licensed gambling establishment," she drawled. "The owner's done time for some small offences and we're not fussy who we serve. We get raided pretty often, its easier all round if we know about it beforehand."

"Amen to that," Gordon grinned, toasting her with his bottle and Wendy laughed again. They chatted for a while, light and easy, until Virgil joined them. Wendy left the brothers so she could soothe the ruffled feathers of the locals.

"We're rich, then?" Gordon asked lazily.

"As long as I don't get jumped," Virgil agreed.

"Avoid the john," Gordon advised.

Virgil nodded. "I'm gonna get out while the going's good. If you're staying here, get back at a decent hour and behave yourself."

Gordon snorted. "I got the talk, Virge," he said. "And I'm not stupid."

Virgil grinned, wondering if their father's rather blunt declaration had made Gordon blush as much as it had him. Along the lines of 'you get her pregnant, you get to marry her', Jeff had laid down the ground rules in a foundation of cement.

"I mean," Gordon continued, warming to his theme. "Wendy Tracy? It'd never work."

Virgil shook his head, standing up. "Alright, squirt. Try not to upset the locals."

"Hello, Pot? Have you met Kettle?" Gordon laughed. "I believe you may have something in common."

"Smart ass," Virgil smiled. "Do as I say, not as I do, little brother."

"You rebel."

Before Virgil could reply, the scanner crackled again, spitting out information rapidly, patrol cars responding in a flurry of action. The brother's shared an uneasy glance when they heard the name 'Welch' mentioned.

"Poor guy," Wendy said, returning. "Only last week he has some fella digging into his personal life, now more people are at it."

"Yeah?" Gordon asked, as casually as he could. "Must be something worth digging for."

"They say his wife was murdered back in Jericho," Wendy revealed. "As if that's not bad enough, kids gotta keep getting onto his property, looking for bones. They all think he did it, those not old enough to remember how cut up he was."

Gordon smiled. "I'd imagine that includes you?"

"Well, yeah," Wendy dimpled, probably younger than Virgil. "But my mom used to know him."

"You don't say," Gordon murmured, captivated by those dimples. He flashed a smile of his own, not without charms himself.

Wendy leaned closer. "You're gonna have to promise me that you'll take care going home tonight."

"Why's that?"

"Been a couple of boys gone missing of late, just up the road. I'd hate it if you disappeared on me."

Gordon allowed her to play with he fingers of his right hand where they circled his beer bottle. "I'm a wanted man," he reminded her. "I gotta disappear."

Wendy smiled. "Story of my life."

Virgil ignored their flirting, intent on the scanner. One car eventually reported that some reporters had stirred 'old man Welch' up again. He'd panicked, but they'd long since gone. Virgil relaxed and shot his brother a smile.

"Remember, you're the one who's gonna have to answer to Scott," he cautioned, dark eyes laughing as he left. Gordon rolled his eyes at his brother's back and returned his attention to Wendy.

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In hindsight, Gordon admitted he'd pushed his luck. Especially when the first off duty officer rocked on up to order a downtime beer. The two men had exchanged suspicious glances, but the officer had moved away and Gordon found Wendy too entertaining to let the concern of being arrested again distract him.

Naturally, the officer wasn't going to drink alone, and it was safe to assume that at least one of his buddies would work with him, but Gordon hadn't let his mind wander in that direction, not when Wendy was hinting at another direction entirely. So when the guy ordering next to him did a double take and Gordon recognised him as Officer Kelly, Gordon swore like the sailor he was. Not because he would have to get himself out of the situation pronto, but because when his brother's found out, he was going to wish he'd let himself get arrested. He was sure they couldn't shout at you quite so much when they arrested you.

To add to his misery, Gordon heard the scanner hiss, learning that an SUV had been spotted in the area, possibly containing those naughty fella's who'd posed as Marshall's, or even those other ones who'd escaped custody so easily. At least, Gordon reflected, he wasn't the only one in trouble.

Officer Kelly reached for his phone and Wendy, confused by the men's reactions to one another, followed Gordon when he vaulted suddenly, and with an athleticism she couldn't help but admire, over the bar and darted into the back room. Gordon spun to face her, having just discovered the golden rule about mixing alcohol with psychic powers. Don't.

"I need a way out."

Wendy stared. "You really are the red head from Jericho," she realised.

"It's nothing bad," Gordon assured her quickly, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"I don't care," she announced, moving to open the fire escape. Gordon paused in the doorway to thank her and she pressed herself close. "I've been waiting for this all night," she breathed, kissing him.

Gordon had to appreciate her sense of cinematic timing, even as he untangled himself. Looking down into her eyes, Gordon smiled.

"We'll always have the town next to Jericho," he promised, butchering the classic line and making Wendy laugh.

"Go!" she said, pushing him into the night and shutting the door swiftly.

Gordon sighed, hearing sirens in the distance. Well, he reflected. He'd always enjoyed a little adventure in his life.

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She appeared out of no-where.

Even though Scott stamped on the breaks immediately, the car still passed through her body, a shadow of white that all three Tracy's felt as a shudder in the machine and a chill in their veins. It took a second for them to process what had happened and although the engine still ran, Scott made no move to engage it.

"Damn," he whispered.

John spun to face him, speaking urgently. "Have you ever been unfaithful?"

Scott met his brother's eyes directly, but said nothing.

"Get out of the car," John ordered him,

"John-"

"Take Alan and get going."

Scott was hotwiredto protect; instinct drove him to put his body between his brothers and danger, to act as a shield or a decoy and now was no different. He shook his head. "You go. It doesn't matter to her if you're faithful or not anymore."

John leaned over Scott and opened the driver's door. "Any chance is one we have to take."

Scott knew to hesitate further could be fatal to all three of them. "Alan, get out of the car," he ordered as he exited the vehicle himself. Leaning his head back inside as John scooted behind the wheel, Scott told his brother to be careful.

"You know where to go?" he asked.

John nodded. "Meet me at Breckenridge."

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The door flew open, heralding the arrival of 'Tornado Tracy'. Gordon staggered in, breathless yet still attempting to communicate. Virgil watched him silently for a moment before he sighed, rose to his feet and reached for his jacket.

Gordon had to give his brother credit for not asking what he'd done, although his admiration for him waned when Virgil insisted on locking the door behind them with no regard for Gordon's tightly strung nerves. Still, once Virgil got moving, he broke into his mile eating lope immediately and Gordon inwardly praised the man's innate ability to not get excited whenever Gordon turned up with the 'oops' expression on his face.

They ran for some time, Gordon putting the intense physical fitness WASP required of him to good use and Virgil letting him set the pace and direction, matching the younger boy step for step. Gordon couldn't help but wonder why an engineer felt the need to keep in such good shape, eventually deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth but to simply embrace the fact that Virgil could keep up. Finally, Gordon stopped, bending over to try to coax air back into his starving lungs. Virgil did the same, but still managed to employ the big brother favourite pastime of wondering just what he'd done this time.

"Gordy?"

The copper haired Tracy winced, knowing an explanation was now required.

"Sheriff," he gasped, flapping a hand in the direction Scott and the others had taken.

Chest heaving, Virgil turned to look. He glanced back down at his exhausted brother. Eventually, and with no apparent trace of humour, he asked if there had been a bit of trouble.

Gordon managed to gasp incredulously at him. "We have … to get … to Scott."

Virgil's left eyebrow rose. "You can't translocate?"

"Four beers."

"Is that some sort of WASP swearing system?"

Gordon knew Virgil was being dense on purpose and gestured accordingly. Virgil chuckled.

"Let's get going, then," he suggested. "Since we'll have to do this the hard way."

"You're enjoying this," Gordon accused him sourly.

Virgil's smile was like the sun rising. "Absolutely."

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The air chilled and John's breath hung in puffs, his skin tingling with the cold and his nose beginning to run. It didn't take long before Raquel appeared in the SUV's back seat, her dark eyes seeking John's in the rear view mirror. She smiled. John continued to drive, silent and determined. Raquel stretched one leg as she shifted seductively, causing the hem of her summer dress to creep up her thigh.

"Take me home?" the ghost asked softly, heaving her chest and adopting a winsome expression.

John nodded. "It's on my to-do list," he promised. "But my home's a little far. Why don't we stop off at yours?"

Raquel's pretty face snarled in the rear view mirror, flashing into decayed flesh and exposed bone as she displayed her anger. John saw they were nearing the turning for Breckenridge and pushed the SUV harder.

Seeing her anger was doing nothing to distract him, Raquel vanished, reappearing after several moments in the front passenger seat as John took the corner at speed.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

John almost nodded in spite of himself, because, hell ... yeah.

"You can't hurt me," he replied instead. "I've never been unfaithful."

All of a sudden, Raquel's weight pressed into John's thighs as she straddled him. "You will be," she promised.


	12. Chapter 12

**Whew! Here we are at last - the final chapter. Up until now, I've tried to stick quite close to the plot of the first 'Supernatural' episode, but I didn't feel the ending worked for our boys.**

**This chapter does contain some grisly themes, and it's not for the faint of heart. Naturally, what I have the characters doing (I'm thinking of Raquel here) I don't condone. Be aware, there is death included within.**

**I'd like to thank everyone who has continued to read my efforts, and special thanks go to all those wonderful people who were kind enough to leave a comment. Each and every one has been greatly appreciated, and gratefully recieved.**

**I have one final word to all of you - ENJOY!**

Gordon fumbled in his pocket for his phone as he ran. They'd tried calling their brother's before, but the back of beyond where they currently found themselves had poor signal reception and they'd resorted to trying at regular intervals in the vain hope they'd get a break. Gordon was therefore understandably surprised when his oldest brother answered with an uncharacteristically snappy 'What?'

Gordon frantically waved at Virgil. "Where are you?" he panted into the cell, hoping Scott wouldn't think him some crazed phone breather.

"Gordy? What's wrong?" Apparently, Scott's bro-dar was in full working order.

"SUV spotted," Gordon reported, saying a silent thanks for big brothers and their preternatural ability to know when you needed them to cut to the chase. "Sheriff following. Brother's two and four on foot."

"Head for Breckenridge," Scott commanded, responding to Gordon's cadet-like manner. "What's your ETA?"

Gordon squinted at Virgil thoughtfully, trying to remember the map he'd briefly seen at some point. "Ten minutes until turn off."

"You have five," Scott told him, disconnecting the call.

Gordon groaned, but dutifully headed off at a run. Virgil took a second to enjoy his little brother's discomfort before following.

Both men were sweat soaked when they rounded the corner onto Breckenridge road. Scott gave them no time to recover, however, shepherding Alan before him as fast as the twelve year old could manage as they searched for the Welch's old family home.

Alan saw it first, a ripple in his subconscious that felt like John his first clue, guiding him to a dilapidated wood building guarded by overgrown shrubs and imposing trees.

He reached out to tug Scott's sleeve. "Here!"

They stopped, waiting as Virgil and Gordon caught up to them.

"What is it?" Virgil panted.

"Raquel murdered her children here," Scott explained quickly. "And Joseph buried her out the back."

His brother's nodded their understanding as they cleared the trees, the SUV coming into sight, stationary despite the running motor. Alan froze, paling.

"She's hurting John!"

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John gritted his teeth against the cry of pain that escaped his lips when Raquel plunged her hand into his chest. Ice burnt around her fingers, his muscles snapping taut in response to the agony. Raquel was getting into her stride now, relieving all the anger and pain she'd felt on that distant, fateful night.

"You tore me apart," she hissed.

John shook his head, gasping. "I'm not Joseph."

"Yes, you are," Raquel told him, sorrow rising from the grave of her broken heart. "You all are."

She pushed her hand deeper and John could feel his heart triple in time, still, then burst again in a scatter of beats. He groaned, unsure how long he could hold out. The window beside him shattered suddenly, the unmistakable force of a bullet punching through the air. Several more followed, each passing through Raquel, who couldn't maintain her pretty illusion under the onslaught, treating John to more skeletal flashes before she disappeared entirely. John drew in several deep breaths as he parted his jacket and lifted his shirt to reveal scorch marks indented into his skin.

"John?"

For the first time the blond noticed Scott, standing with his feet apart and gun in both hands, still trained onto the car.

"I'm okay," John croaked.

Scott slowly lowered the weapon.

"Scott!" Gordon called. "Alan says she's still in the car!"

"Then I'm taking her home," John muttered, having heard his brother. Revving the engine, he put the SUV into gear, the car snapping forwards into the house and through one rotting wall.

Gordon reacted without conscious thought, something that tested Scott's patience no end but had seen the red head through on numerous occasions. Before John had time to complete lifting his hands from the wheel in order to protect his face, Gordon had taken a gamble on his ability having recovered and launched himself into the car, grabbed hold of his brother and brought them to land in a heap at Virgil and Alan's feet.

Virgil hauled John upright. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," John nodded, rubbing his chest.

Virgil turned to Gordon, who was being helped up by Alan. "Are you insane?"

Gordon uttered the most pathetic 'ow' in all history, flexing his elbow. Virgil softened instantly.

"You idiot," he sighed, slinging an arm around the teen's shoulders as Alan stared up at the house.

"Do you see them?" he asked quietly.

John followed his gaze. "See who? Allie?"

"Those kids," Alan replied.

Virgil and John exchanged anxious glances, unable to see anything. Virgil put his hand on Alan's shoulder, willing to hazard a guess at who they might be.

"They could be Raquel's children, Sprout," he said. "You're going to be fair game to them."

Alan straightened his spine, watching Scott pick his way over the remains of the wooden wall. "You're gonna need me," he announced.

"Atta boy, Alan," Gordon cheered, but John noticed Virgil's shoulders slump slightly. There wasn't time to decipher his brother's reaction, however.

"We'd better get over there," he told Virgil, as gently as he could.

Virgil moved without a word, motioning Gordon to keep Alan back until he'd retrieved the sawn-off shotgun from the trunk of the hissing SUV. He gripped the cold metal tightly, remembering its weight and hating the easy familiarity of the weapon in his hand. Scott just visible beyond the car, Virgil filled his pockets with rock salt bullets. Snapping the barrels in place, ammunition loaded, Virgil looked at his younger brothers.

"Let's go."

They reached Scott, who stood motionless. Just before him stood Raquel. For her part, the ghost had forgotten his presence, staring into the shadows fearfully. Nevertheless, Virgil trained the shotgun onto her, ready if she became violent again.

Alan looked about him, taking in the general condition of the empty house. Two small figures appeared at the top of the stairs, both younger than himself, the boy the eldest of the two by only a couple of years. They held hands as a puddle appeared at their feet, their hair and clothing dripping continuously. Alan shuddered as the air cooled further and he lost sight of the children as they blinked out of existence. He saw an echo of their shadows at the foot of the staircase before he noticed them peeking out from under the old dining table. Fear emanated from that corner of the room, but it appeared only Alan could sense them. Even Raquel was looking in the wrong direction.

Alan felt the warmth of one of his brothers moving to his side, Scott's strong voice asking quietly if he could see the children. Raquel, unable to move, swung her head slowly his way. Alan nodded, pressing into Scott's body, a direct representation of the young children's endless search for comfort. For a moment, Alan fed off their terror before he wrenched control back under his brother's influence.

"Talk to them, kiddo," Scott urged softly. "We need them to connect with their mother."

Alan nodded, his mouth dry. He was unsure how to begin as he had always been the one contacted, but he focused his attention back on the Welch children. Two sets of huge eyes stared back, giving Alan the impression they had heard Scott and were waiting for Alan to begin.

"Go to your Mom," he said, hating the way his voice trembled. Their eyes never left his face, their emotions conveying it was she they feared, not the strange men who'd invaded their home. Alan couldn't blame them. Suddenly the boy crawled forwards, allowing the light cast by the SUV's headlamps to rest on his face. Alan swallowed. The boy's pale skin held a blue tinge, livid red finger marks standing out starkly on his cheek where, Alan realised, his mother had held him under the water.

The vision came without warning and Alan tumbled into it head first, unable to stop himself.

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_A bathroom formed before him, Raquel kneeling at the tub and sobbing as she placed her daughter fully clothed into the filling water. Alan could feel the woman's tortured soul breaking as she sought to save her children from the agony she felt.__With a strangled cry, she pushed the little girl under the water savagely and Alan heard the boy beside her cry out in horror as he fought her, desperate to rescue his sister._

_"Mommy, no!"_

_Raquel didn't listen, didn't react as her son's nails frantically tore at her and the little girl thrashed beneath them. Alan felt a cry escape him in time with the boy as the girl stilled, and then Alan _was_ him, six years old and terrified by his mother's behaviour, standing next to her with his hands atop her arms. Those sad, drowning eyes turned to him and Alan backed away._

_"Mommy?" _

_"She's sleeping, baby," Raquel told him, her voice breaking. "She can't hurt anymore. Mommy's gonna make the pain stop for you, too."_

_Alan fought her with all the strength he possessed, but his small body was no match and the cold water stole his breath, leaving him with nothing as Raquel pushed his head under. Still, he clawed at her as she left those marks on his cheek, his lungs screaming for air and his sister's face near his own. Alan sobbed tight in his chest as the darkness inched closer. He could no longer feel his hands and feet, his arms and legs were slow and heavy. His struggles weakened, eventually ceasing altogether as his mind fogged, his reason's for fighting forgotten._

_His chest hurt. His eyes closed …_

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"Alan!"

With a startled jerk, Alan opened his eyes, taking a ragged breath that caused him to cough. For a moment, he didn't recognise the man holding him.

"Daddy?" he tried once he'd regained his breath, thoroughly confused.

The man smiled sadly. "Try again, Sprout."

It all came back so suddenly Alan felt sick. The room span and he sagged in his brother's protective embrace, glad he, at least, had Scott to hold on to when things went wrong.

"Allie?" Virgil called, sounding strained.

The boy turned to him. His brother's whole body was held stiffly, tensed for action, the gun held firmly and with competence in his hands, continuing to aim at Raquel.

"What's she doing to you, kid?"

Alan shook his head, but it was Scott who answered.

"Don't shoot her, Virge," he ordered. "Once she dissipates, I doubt she'll still be trapped here."

Virgil nodded his understanding, but didn't take his eyes, or the gun, from the ghost. "Al?"

"I'm okay," the child replied, unable to hide the tremble in his voice. "I saw what happened."

Scott's arms tightened around him, but Alan's eyes found those of the boy's.

"I'm sorry," the twelve year old said softly, and with genuine regret. "I know you're frightened, but you need to go to your Mom."

The boy shrank back next to his sister. Alan pulled away from Scott, who tried to hold him back to no avail.

"She wasn't well," Alan told the children. "She didn't know what she was doing was wrong. She was hurting and only wanted to protect you."

The two children exchanged glances before turning back to Alan. He could feel them wavering, on the verge of believing him. They'd been alone for a long time and Alan ached for them, with them, desperately grateful he had Scott to act as his guardian when their Dad was absent. It was the wrong thing to feel while he was emphatically linked to the two spirits he realised, as their twin gazes swung hungrily towards his oldest brother, starved of the comforting presence he exuded.

Scott's breath caught in his throat as two bedraggled forms appeared before him. The girl couldn't have been more than four and she beseechingly held her arms out to him, desperate for warmth. It was hard for Scott to deny her something so simple, but he shook his head.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, speaking softly and as if she was a still real girl, perhaps his own sibling. "But I'm not the one you need."

She didn't understand, water dripping from her fingertips as she stretched them out to Scott once more. He stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice thick with emotion. He tore his eyes from her to look at her brother. "It's time to cross over."

On some level, the child knew he was dead, had always known, but he'd still believed, almost in spite of himself, that he lived and needed the care of an adult. Scott's words, however, brought home the reality of the situation.

He took his sister's hand and together they vanished, reappearing directly before their mother. Raquel let out a sob as she saw her babies for the first time in two decades, dropping to her knees to gather them to her. Alan didn't watch the family reunite and make the journey across the void, instead turning his attention back to Scott. Alan could empathise with the children without any psychic ability, having always turned to Scott when he was in need.

His brother's eyes were riveted on the spot the children had stood and concentrating gave Alan a glimpse into Scott's emotions. He ached to hold his own children within his nurturing hands, something he had denied himself for the sake of putting the rest of his family first.

Alan bit his lip. Scott would make an incredible father. Had been and was again to Alan himself, raising his youngest brother in the years following their mother's death, stepping in time and again when their Dad needed him to and now taking the responsibility on all over again, despite knowing Alan would never be his completely. It came as a shook that giving Alan back to their father tore at Scott and he reached instinctively to the man who'd given his life up for him.

Scott was a little surprised when his baby brother wrapped his arms around him, more so when the boy whispered to him.

"I love you, Scotty."

Scott lent his cheek against Alan's hair and closed his eyes, strong arms holding his brother close. "Love you too, Alan," he breathed.

Gordon vanished, the sheriff on his mind, and Virgil relaxed his tight shoulders, turning to John and checking on his wounds, gun held loosely in one large hand. Scott, still with an arm around Alan, shook his head at his middle brother.

"What were you thinking, driving into the house like that?"

"What were _you_ thinking?" John grunted, shying away from Virgil's probing. "Shooting Casper in the face?"

"Worked, didn't it?"

Then Gordon was back, telling them the patrol cars were close, very close and they needed to get moving. Virgil turned his attention from John to the SUV, announcing it'd go.

As they peeled out, they saw the Sheriff's department coming after them. Concentrating hard, Scott found the first car's gear stick, putting it abruptly into reverse and bringing the car to a grinding halt. Virgil, as ever reaching the same conclusion as his big brother, if by a wildly different route, focused on the second car as Gordon drove, blocking the gas from reaching the engine. The car lost power, slowing to a stop and both Scott and Virgil kept them that way until they were sure they had a decent head start.

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A day later, Scott, taking his turn to drive, pulled over in the early evening sunlight. His brothers had been quiet, contemplative and Scott felt it was time to find a direction again.

"What do we do now?" Alan asked him.

"We continue to look for Dad," Scott said, correct in his guess that the other boys would want to. "We'll hole up here for the night and in the morning we'll head in the direction of the co-ordinates he left."

Alan's eyes lit up hopefully. "Do you think he's waiting for us, Scotty?"

"I don't know, kiddo," his brother answered truthfully, watching Alan slump dejectedly. Beside the twelve year old, Gordon glanced out the window.

"Hey, Virge? D'ya think there's enough money left over to buy a ball and a couple of gloves?" he asked, having spotted a park.

Virgil and Scott exchanged glances. It'd do them all good to spend some time in a normal activity again and Virgil handed the red head the money. Gordon snapped out of existence and the others left the SUV by a more conventional method, heading to the park and knowing Gordon would be able to find them. He'd explained that he could centre on any of them to go directly where they were, which had led to Virgil declaring Gordon their own homing pigeon and John to enjoy practising his pigeon impression.

Not long after, Gordon appeared again, almost on top of John, which naturally led to a brief scuffle, until Gordon translocated away. John stood to dust himself down, quick reactions catching the glove that Gordon threw at him. Virgil sat on the back support of the nearest bench, feet on the seat, forearms resting on his knees and his hands clasped between them.

Laughing, the red head beckoned to Alan and Virgil smiled as the kid ran to join the game. As soon as boy was gone, however, the smile faded. Scott joined him on the bench.

"He's tough, resilient," he said softly, obviously reading his younger brother's expression.

"How long can that get us by?" Virgil asked, equally as quiet. "We're bringing him into a dangerous game, more so for him with his abilities."

Scott shook his head. "We're careful, we limit his involvement."

Virgil laughed bitterly. "You can't protect him forever, Scotty, you know that. Someday what we're doing here is gonna leave a mark. The demon found him once, it's gonna do it again."

"Then we deal with it," Scott replied firmly. "Whatever Dad's hunting, he won't risk Alan."

"I get the feeling this is bigger than us, Scott," Virgil cautioned, watching the game start up between his brothers. "You know he's not waiting."

"Virge –"

"I love the guy too, but he's not perfect. Be careful."

Without another word, Virgil left to join the other boys, giving Scott the opportunity to mull over what he'd said. When they found their father, he was going to have some difficult questions to answer. Scott would make sure of it.

"Scott!" Alan called, breaking into his thoughts and waving frantically.

"Come and play," Virgil invited warmly.

Scott stood and smiled. Tonight, at least, they could forget their troubles and play a little ball. Tomorrow would bring what it would and lucky for them, Scott knew how to roll with the punches.


End file.
